


Daddy's Little Hunter

by MythicalCatie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, Daddy!John, Dean Winchester in Diapers, Diapers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forced infantilism, Gags, Gen, Infantilism, Little!Dean, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Spanking With a Belt, Pacifier Gag, Pacifiers, Sam is 15, Shaving, Spanking, Team Dean's Red Ass, Use of Diapers for Waste Purposes, Wetting, bottle feeding, dean is 20, little!Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-06-10 11:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15290973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythicalCatie/pseuds/MythicalCatie
Summary: Dean has messed up, big time. John, worried for his safety and his capabilities to handle hunting, decides on a fitting punishment: Dean is no longer to be an adult, but rather, he is to be a baby,John'sbaby, until he is ready to act like the responsible little soldier John knows he is.





	1. Chapter 1

Fallen leaves crisp from the autumn season crunched under the feet of the Winchester men, Sam, Dean, and John, though they silently cursed the sound that they made and tried their best to keep the noise disruption to a minimum. It wasn’t easy, however, in the dead of night when the only other sounds for miles were their controlled breaths and that of the monster that they were hunting in the otherwise relatively sleepy town of Stowe, Vermont.

Known for being home to to the state’s highest mountain, Stowe was a tourist attraction mainly for people who liked to climb, though others came for its charm. John in particular liked how friendly everybody that he had spoken to seemed as well as how tight-knit the community appeared. If it hadn’t been for the tragedy that struck his family almost sixteen years prior and the change in lifestyle that followed, he could have seen himself moving to a place like this with Mary and the boys. His sons would have been so cute dressing up for trick-or-treating on Halloween, picking out pumpkins at some dingy little patch, and playing in leaves much like the ones that they were crushing beneath them with the soles of their shoes in the current moment. Coming to towns with such warmth always reminded him of what they missed out on. God, to do it all again…

No. There was no time for thinking about that now. It’d only serve to distract him because right now, he was hunting a werewolf. They already had to sacrifice by doing it under the cover of night due to the fact that Stowe was such a small, do no wrong down. it certainly could have been easier, but it didn't need to be any harder. Even though it was something that he had done a thousand times before and he could probably do it in his sleep, he needed to be paying attention. It was an easy hunt; an open and shut case with very little questioning of the locals for Dean and John, and all three of them could be in the car before they knew it, but only if he didn’t screw it up daydreaming about Sammy getting excited for the Easter Bunny’s arrival or Dean begging for a new toy even though his birthday had **just** passed because he didn’t know or care about the value of a dollar. The job couldn’t be done and done **right** if he wasn’t all the way in it.     

That’s what he always told his sons; you have to be at the top of your game one hundred percent of the time. When you aren’t, that’s when errors get made and people get hurt, even with something as cookiecutter as taking out a werewolf. He had been burning it into their brains for years now, after they learned about the life, but long before he ever allowed them to step foot in the Impala with the intent to go on a job. If nothing else, it was the one thing that they should understand, and as far as John was concerned, they had had plenty time to do so.

Sam hadn’t been hunting for very long. The kid was young yet and it wasn’t until a couple years back that John had felt safe letting him do more than hold down research duties. He was good at that, seemed to like it. After all, it was just like studying for school but with more creepy crawly creatures and less George Washington. He was good at it, it kept him busy and from feeling left out, and it made John and Dean’s lives much easier; that was all the reason the man needed to justify the position.

Sam still did case research nowadays, but it hadn’t been his sole place in the team since the summer of ninety-seven.   

The monster in question was a werewolf, much like the one that they were hunting tonight, and the boy’d been wearing John down for weeks. Sure, Sam had asked about going out with Dean and his father ever since he had learned what they **really** did on their road trips. Typically, he dropped it pretty quickly with an explanation of where and why he was needed most and in more persistent and argumentative cases, with a few dozen laps around the track of whatever high school was nearest to them. But about a month before school was due to be let out, the youngest Winchester had begun to state a more adamant case. Repeatedly. With no sign of letting up no matter how many fights they got into over it. Summer break was coming and it was coming fast. Sam couldn’t stand the thought of many more long stretches of lonely days and nights stuck in a house or a motel room without very much to keep him busy and nobody to talk to, without Dean to pull pranks on and bum around town with. Yeah, he was around on the days that John was home, too, and sometimes, he even stayed behind on the less interesting hunts, but the second the Impala pulled out onto the road with him in it, his brother got the feeling that no matter how many times he came back to visit, it’d never be enough. There were only so many times that he could read his sparse collection of books, if you could even call it a collection to begin with, and there was no way that he could suffer through it even one more time, never mind how many ever it would take until his first day of ninth grade finally rolled around. After a couple years of doing just that, he hadn’t thought that it was unreasonable for him to want differently this time, and he saw to it that John thought so, too.

His efforts did not go unnoticed by his father, and by no means were they in vain. Even though the first thirteen or so days contained plentiful amounts of the ache of his ribs from running so many miles when his tone of voice became just a bit too pointed and his words just slightly over the line that marked John’s threshold of patience as well as hands and arms sore from cleaning guns and putting together bullets of salt, Sam had achieved his goal and ganked his first ever supernatural being. He was a responsible kid for the most part, and after a while, John couldn’t say no to allowing him on a hunt. Even two years later, John looked back on the proud gleam that his second son had in his eye all the way home for a job well done with a fondness that he should be remembering the time that Sam took first place in the school’s spelling bee. He was in a different state that evening, had to hear about it secondhand when he pulled back into Iowa the following Thursday.

Dean was a different story. He had been hunting with John for almost half a decade, now. Of course, in the beginning, Dean only tagged along when John could swing leaving Sammy with Bobby Singer or Pastor Jim because Lord knew the boy was too young to stay alone, but it came to be a more frequent affair when the patriarch of the clan felt confident enough that Sam could stay by himself (though the term “by himself” might be walking a fine line; it was always in a town nearby enough that John could rip into it once more at the sign of slightest trouble or danger). But as the boy got older and wanted to start staying truly alone, his firstborn had more free time to come along.

Dean’s learning curve had been shorter than his brother’s, but that’s only because he was a lot less stubborn about doing things the way that he was told to do them instead of with his own method. Sam had always been one to question things that didn't seem to make sense, but Dean had just done them anyway, knowing that John knew more than he did and that even if he couldn’t see the full picture, things would work out in the end.

Dean had very quickly become John’s right hand man by **all** accounts once he began hunting with him, a valuable asset not just for preparing items to use on the monsters, but attacking and killing them, too.

It wasn’t too long before they had developed a psychic connection of sorts, the younger of the two knowing what his elder’s next move was ten steps before it was even necessary to make. They worked together so fluidly that if one wasn’t looking too closely, they’d think that the pair were clones of one another.

Even tonight it was obvious that they might as well have been working alongside each other for millennia. While John had felt the need to remind Sammy a thousand times of the game plan (despite both the fact that he had hunted them in the past and his protests that he **got** what he was being told and if he heard it again he was going to go postal), it didn’t cross the forty-five year old’s mind even for a second to run it down for his oldest. Dean knew what was to happen. He could recite the plan top to bottom, bottom to top, sideways, backward… John didn’t need to say a word.

Carefully, the brunet cleared a log, then turned back to make sure that the boys knew that there was something to step over. It was hard to tell in nearly pitch black conditions, and one of the last things they needed was for somebody to trip and call attention to the group.

“Watch your step, boys,” John said, making sure to keep his voice low and quiet. “There’s a log right in front of you.” It was always good to specify; he didn’t want them thinking that they were trying to avoid snapping a branch in half and then falling right over it anyway.

Without waiting for a response, he faced forward once again and continued on his way. He didn’t know for sure, but John had a feeling that they were getting nearer to the wolf because they more steps they took, the less silence filled the air. Even if some noises were barely detectable, they were telling nonetheless.

Sam nodded to himself with his father’s words, opting not to respond verbally. The less talking they did, the better. However, just as the leader of the line had done, he looked back at his brother to ensure that he heard the warning as well. Dean could get so wrapped up in what he was doing that sometimes, he didn’t hear certain instructions. Especially on hunts that he had done flawlessly before, he tuned out a number of his surroundings to make sure he got things done right; it was something that he needed to work on for the very reason that he **could** miss instructions that weren’t part of the original game plan. But, of course, it was an asset on occasion, so they found ways to work with and around it.

However, when Sam glanced over his shoulder at the spot where his brother had been moments before, in his place, he saw nothing but empty space.

A wave of panic washed over him at the sight of seeing nothing at all. Where had Dean gone off to? Had the wolf come and captured him without them noticing? No, that was the furthest thing from possible. For one, if something had entered their group, they would have noticed. It would have made, at the very least, breathing sounds that were unfamiliar to the men and they would have noticed it. For another, Dean was not, had never been, and would never be the type to go quietly. If he went at all, he would go fighting, shooting, and screaming for backup. The affair would not be a silent one and if that was the case, Dean would still be with the cluster. So if it wasn’t the monster, what was it?

Maybe he got lost. They could have been moving too fast and Dean could have looked away for a moment only to turn his attention straight ahead again to find that he had lost track of John and Sam. He could be somewhere nearer to the edge of the woods. Yeah, that would make more sense. All they would have to do is retrace their steps and find him. Dad might be a bit angry that he wasn’t paying close enough attention, but everything would be all right. Right?  

“Dad,” Sam whispered, trying to walk fast enough to get much closer to John while attempting to not displace the leaves any more than necessary. Why couldn’t they be working in a town without seasons? It’d be much easier to run in silence on a ground only covered by dirt or grass.

“Be quiet, Sam,” John sent back, continuing to take long strides toward their destination, wherever that may be. The less steps that fell, the better. “It’s probably not much further now; we don’t want the thing to hear our chatter.”

Sam wondered which the better option was: raising his voice slightly so John would pay attention or jogging to catch up. Each would affect their pact to remain as silent as possible, but which one would honor it the most?

He decided on the former of the two. He didn’t even have to make his voice **louder** per say; all that he had to do was add a little bite for emphasis for it to have the same impact.

“ **Dad** ,” the fifteen year old repeated as he matched John’s stride and then some, which was easy considering the length of his legs. There was no need to make noise to catch up after all. “We have a problem,” Sam opted to continue after that to cut out the middleman of extra questions such as, _What problem?_ “Dean’s not behind me anymore, and he didn’t pass me to get in front. He’s gone.”

Upon hearing this, John stopped dead in his tracks, his only movement being turning his entire body to face his youngest so that he could look him in the eye.

John knew as well as Sam did, even more immediately so, that there was no possibility of the werewolf pulling a sneak attack, so it had to be something else. The eldest Winchester believed that he knew what the cause of Dean’s disappearance was, and it was something that he had dreaded for a long time.

John’s stare was so intense that Sam could recognize it right now just as well as he could in the daylight, and it was only the fact that he knew that he was not receiving it due to something that **he** had done that helped temper off some of the knots tying in his stomach.

“ **What** did you just say?” he asked, seething, his voice likely a bit too loud for their current environment. There was no way that the boy had just told him that his brother had strayed from the group, that he had left without permission or even so much as making his departure publicly known. John sure **hoped** that he had misheard Sam and all he needed to do was get his ears checked as opposed to the alternative being the case.

“I looked behind me to make sure he knew about the log because sometimes he doesn’t hear you, and when I turned around, he wasn’t there anymore,” Sam explained, averting his eyes to the ground. When he was on the defensive, he could typically match the way that John’s eyes bore into his skull, but he wasn’t in fight mode tonight, at least not for anything human, and he preferred to avoid getting caught in the crossfire of his father’s frustration when he wasn’t to blame. A lack of eye contact was crucial in doing so.

The grip that John had on his knife (a shot would ring out through the dead woods like an explosive destroying a continent; he had to reserve the gun in the waistband of his jeans for an absolute emergency) tightened considerably with the repetition of his younger son’s discovery, his teeth clenching so tightly together that he thought they might crack under the pressure. This was a smart boy. **His** smart boy. A kid he thought he could trust to listen to what he had been told, someone who _had_ for **years**. Then he goes and pulls _this_? John had thought him better, even despite his constant fears. He had thought him **better**. But now… now, he supposed that wasn’t the case.

He wanted to thank Sam for informing him of Dean’s separation from the trio, to acknowledge what he had told him with a pleasantry because it was likely the only one he’d hear from that point on until John stopped fuming, but he couldn’t, for some reason, let the words pass his lips. Maybe it was the fire burning in his entire being, or possibly the smoke billowing out of his ears like a single chimney carrying out the workload of ten, but something was keeping whatever came out of his mouth from being kindly spoken, which, of course, was the cause of his growl as he ordered, “You keep with me. We’re going to search every inch of this forest until we find him, you understand? Keep your knife drawn and **don’t** lose track of your gun, Samuel. We’re already down your brother; the last thing I need is not to have backup if we come across anything.”

“Yes sir,” Sam answered, angling his blade so that it would gleam in the moonlight, a sign that his grip was every bit as firm to it as his father’s. “But I think we should start by going backwards… He might have gotten distracted and fell behind or something. He could still be looking for us back th-”

Before Sam could finish his pitch for returning to ground that they had already covered, he was cut off by a strangled scream that rang through the woods with purpose, as what was likely the loudest sound that it had ever heard so late at night. Both the teenager and his forty-something company had no trouble recognizing _exactly_ whose vocal chords produced that cry, but even if they hadn’t realized the male to be of their own blood, they couldn’t have taken off in its direction any faster.  

Their quick response was due to long strides and the fact that they no longer cared about making noise beneath their feet. The sounds be damned, they needed to get to Dean.

When they found him, he was just barely out of the clutches of the wolf, mere inches from being mauled. John reacted quickly, taking aim and pulling the trigger of his gun.

Decapitated, the wolf fell to the ground and Dean jumped back, far away from the corpse, startled as adrenaline coursed through his veins. “Oh,” he breathed, making eye contact with John. “Dad. Thank God.”

Dean couldn’t tell in the dark whether John looked relieved or angry, but it was likely both. Even without him having spoken at all, he knew that he was in for it. There was no way he wasn’t after the shit he had just pulled, and he knew. It was bad. He had done wrong. He certainly didn’t get into anything without weighing the risks, and he thought that this one would come out the other way around.

“Are you okay?” were the first words out of John’s mouth, his breathing ragged from worry.  

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Dean replied, and he wanted thank his father for saving him, but was cut off before he could express the sentiment.

“What the _hell_ was that?” was the next sentiment, and it was then that Dean could tell that his father was _definitely_ angry.

Dean didn’t know what to say. He was ashamed of himself and his actions and there was no excuse for what he’d done. _Fuck_ wanting to be an “adult” and hunt on his own. Fuck proving his worth. He had _messed up_ , and as such, he could only hang his head and pray that silence would be enough of an answer for John. It wasn’t.

“I asked you a question, boy,” the man growled, crossing the dirt underneath his feet to reach Dean, to get in his face. “In my day, children were respectful and _answered_ their parents when spoken to. They also looked at the person who was speaking to them.” Reaching his hand up, John cupped it around Dean’s chin and forced it upward so that he would be looking in his eyes. “Answer me. Now. What. the hell. was that?”

“I..” Dean stammered, shifting his weight uncomfortably. This was usually something that Dad would have to do to get Sammy to answer him, and that much didn’t even work half the time. He _never_ had to use it on him anymore. Or, ever, really. But being asked that way really only accomplished one thing, and that was making him blank even harder seeing as he had no words to begin with. “I… I don’t know,” he answered, and honestly, he knew it was pathetic.

That seemed to just make John even more angry, and rightfully so (or at least Dean thought.) “I don’t know” wasn’t an acceptable answer in any form. “You don’t know?” he scoffed, his grip on Dean’s face tightening. “Typical.” Whatever the reason was, though, he needed to be punished for putting himself in danger. And by ‘punished’, John meant **big time**.

John let go of Dean’s chin with so much force that the twenty year old stumbled back at the action, and it took a moment to regain his footing. However, he felt positively sick to his stomach when John began to pull his belt from its loops. Even Sam’s eyes widened, but yet, he didn’t have the courage to say anything. He knew that he wouldn’t get John to change his mind about spanking Dean. The only thing that he _would_ accomplish was getting the belt turned on himself, and that definitely didn’t do anybody any good. “Maybe a round or two over the hood of the car will help you formulate your thoughts to give me a real answer. Now, march your ass down to the Impala and I don’t want to hear that you said a single word on your way there.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean responded almost in a whisper, and those were the only words that came. No argument. No pushback. Just obedience. And John wondered, where were those qualities when they were hunting the damn thing?

“Samuel,” he said gruffly, and Sam knew it wasn’t because of him. “Accompany your brother to the car while I take care of the body. I’ll be there soon.”

Like it was in stereo, Sam replied with yet another, “Yes, sir,” and then, they were off.

* * *

John took a long time to return to the car, and both boys were sure that it was a tactic to make Dean even more uneasy. He _never_ took this long to take care of a body, even without their help.

Sam tried to distract his older brother, but to no avail. He was just too focused on what was coming to him to pay any attention to his sibling’s jokes and stories.

It felt like days before John returned, but it couldn't have been that long. It _might_ have been an hour, but that was the upper limit.

Dean was startled when the patriarch of the family knocked on his window, having been paying too much attention to Sam to notice anything at all.

The green-eyed man (or, rather, boy, at least as John still saw him) looked up, his eyes-bugged wide, but relaxed just slightly when he saw it was only his dad. Most of the tension in his body remained, however. But that was to be expected in a situation like this.

“Out,” John said simply and gestured to the front of the car before shifting so that Dean had room to open the door and exit the car.

Dean swallowed hard before complying, making his way around to the hood of the Impala. The look that he gave John was one that he’d given him many times in his life, and the older man knew exactly what it meant. “No, Dean. Nobody’s around for miles. It’s the middle of the night. Nobody will see.” Though, he couldn’t say that the boy didn’t deserve it.

Dean nodded, and, as quiet as a mouse, asked, “Jeans down?”

“Boxers too.” They _better_ be on the ground seeing as he had just intentionally put his life in jeopardy.

The eldest son gulped down a huge lump in his throat. Bare-assed on the hood of the car on a public road, being spanked by a heavy leather belt? That definitely didn’t sound pleasant. _“Should have thought about that before you went and nearly got yourself killed.”_ Even so, he obeyed, not wanting to get himself into any more trouble than he already was.

Dean debated taking his bottoms off all the way, but was stopped by the small detail of his shoes. So, he decided to leave them on his legs, only sliding then down to his ankles. Maybe it would keep him from kicking his legs out.

Before he knew it, he was bent over and splayed out over the hood of the car, his line of sight leading directly to Sam. He closed his eyes and hoped it would help with the shame.

John didn’t waste any time getting started. As soon as Dean had a good grip on the car and was still, the belt came down on his ass, and the hunter could tell, even without looking, that it was folded over to become a makeshift strap. John was _not_ going to go easy on him, especially seeing as there was no warm up. John’s philosophy was that if somebody had done something wrong enough to warrant their taking the belt, then they didn’t deserve a warm up.

Dean yelped at the slap, and his face heated in embarrassment at the sound. He should be taking this like a man, not yipping like a dog at the first lick. He would do better the next time, and for the rest of the time for that matter. He had to. It was just because he had been caught off guard. That was all.

The second came down and he only hissed. That was an improvement, but he was shooting for silence.

Silence, however, proved to be an unattainable goal. The spanking seemed like it would never end. John just went on and on and _on,_ turning his ass from pink to red to practically purple. After a while, Dean just couldn’t hold his emotions back and became choked up as tears spilled from his gorgeous forest green eyes. “Dad, please,” he sobbed, hiccuping as his words came out. “Please stop,” he pleaded. “I can’t take anymore. Please. Please stop.” Another slap, harder this time. Even Sam was debating whether or not to get out of the car and put an end to it.

Making sure to get the backs of Dean’s thighs as well, John asked, “Do you have a better answer than, ‘I don’t know’?”

Dean’s brain was fuzzy, and it took him a minute to remember. The longest minute of his life, he’d argue, because John didn’t stop and wait for him to answer. “Yes!” he shouted out, trying to resist the urge to shift away from the blows. That would only make things worse. He didn’t pause for John to respond, hoping to end this as quickly as possible. His backside was long past the stage of throbbing. By this point, it was on its way to numb. “I was trying to prove myself to you!” he sniffled. “I was trying to make you see that I could hunt on my own, but I… I f-failed. Daddy, please. Please! I’ve had enough! I know what I did wrong! Please!”

And then, just like that, it was over. John knew when the “Daddy’s” came out that that was Dean’s breaking point (or, in this case, way past it.)

John pulled the belt away from Dean and relooped it through his belt, then gave him two firm pats between his shoulder blades and told him to get up, but this time was different.

John had him stand up, like normal, but then he jumped over multiple steps and told him to, “Get into the car with your pants down. I don’t even want your boxers up, Dean. You’re going to sit there and think about what you’ve done, understood?”

And Dean did that. Still hiccuping and bawling, he climbed into the backseat and sat despite the fact that it caused him even more pain. But something was _wrong_ , Dean knew as John got back into the driver’s seat. Something was _missing_ from the ritual. Dean didn’t get his hug. He didn’t get his forgiveness.

He was afraid to mention it, scared that inquiring would earn him a second round over the hood of the car. But, shifting uncomfortably on the leather seat of the Impala, it was the biggest thought on his mind beside the pain. Had he not been forgiven?

* * *

The ride was silent, and John didn’t so much as spare a glance at Dean the whole way there. He was too furious to even think about it.

Sam, however, was hyperfocused on his brother, paying attention to his every whimper and whine. He felt badly for him, able to tell (and have seen) that John had gone overboard, but he was by no means willing to say that. Instead, he did things like ask if he could sit in the backseat with Dean (with the goal of comforting him), but those requests were denied outright. Every time he tried to even talk to him, John shut him right up.

Dean tried to hold back his tears and his noises for Sam’s sake. He was supposed to be the big, strong older brother who took his punishments stony-faced and with dignity, not the little sniveling brat in the backseat. But the spanking had been too hard and his bottom was too sore. John was an expert with a belt in his hand and they both knew it. So, there was an unspoken agreement in the air that Dean was allowed to let out as many tears and sounds as he wanted. Thank God for it.

Dean knew that John was still mad, but he couldn’t figure out why. He usually cooled down after a while. He had repented for his wrongdoing. He had taken his punishment, so why wasn’t he held? Why wasn’t he forgiven? John usually wasn’t like this, but then again, Dean had never done anything as stupid before. He could only hope that things would turn out okay.


	2. Chapter 2

Surprising John, Dean was the first to wake up the morning after they returned to the Men of Letters bunker. He wouldn’t have expected him to want to get out of bed at all today, nevermind at… seven-thirty in the morning.

But he looked exhausted even still, and his eyes were puffy and red, presumably from crying. John could tell in that moment that he hadn’t slept a single minute the entire night.

“Mornin’, Dean,” John greeted, but he didn’t get the customary reply.

Instead, Dean walked up to him, sniffled, and asked, his voice breaking, “Do you hate me now?”

John’s eyes widened and he narrowly avoided spitting out his coffee. What made Dean think _that?_ “What gives you the idea that I hate you, son?”

Dean rubbed his eyes with balled up fists in a useless attempt to rid the evidence of tears from his face. His voice was a mumble, and John had to strain to hear it, especially because Dean refused to look him in the eye.

It sounded so childish the way he said it. Petulant, even. Pathetic. Grown men didn’t say things like this. “You didn’t give me a hug last night,” or, rather, the night before last night, he began as his chest rose and fell heavily, his breathing ragged, “and you didn’t forgive me.” Hadn’t that monster of a belting been enough?

John had to make a special effort to keep his face from falling. How could he have _forgotten_ to hug his child after he nearly _died_? There was absolutely no excuse for something like that happening. _Fuck_ being angry. He should have remembered.

Immediately standing and pushing his chair in, he didn’t delay sweeping his eldest into what was probably the biggest hug he’d ever given him and said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to forget, baby. That’s all my fault.”

Dean’s arms shook as he wrapped them around John and squeezed him tightly. He had just felt so _wrong_ the past couple days without this. It felt so good to finally get it.

Dean held on for way longer than he was proud of, and John didn’t even think about letting go until he did, which must have been at least a good three minutes. John was lucky that he was still alive.

When he did pull away, Dean’s eyes just looked so _sad_. “I’m sorry, dad,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “I shouldn’t have run off and…”

“I know you are, Dean,” John assured, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “I know.”

“Do you forgive me?” he questioned almost desperately. “I promise I’ll never do it again. I was so stupid.”

“Come sit and we’ll talk,” John told him, taking his chair back before patting his pajama-clad leg.

Dean looked very skeptical of this instruction, and rightfully so. Why couldn’t John forgive him standing up? In fact, he felt strongly enough to dispute it. Respectfully so, of course. “I uhm… I don’t think my butt is ready for that yet. Sorry.”

“It’ll just be for a minute,” John assured, “and you can grab the pillow I put on the chair over there if it’d make you more comfortable.”

Dean didn’t want to push too hard. He didn’t want to get John angry again. So, he did as told and placed the pillow on his father’s lap before lowering himself down onto it, a hiss accompanying the action. At least his pants were soft today and not jeans. He could definitely say that those were one of the last types of pants he’d like to wear after a spanking.

“You’re not stupid, Dean,” John assured once Dean was seated, snaking his arms around his waist, effectively trapping him. “You just did a stupid thing. You’re twenty years old. I did much worse at your age.”

Dean nodded, shifting uncomfortably on the pillow on which he was seated. His ass had stopped feeling like it was on fire, but the throbbing, even over a day later, was worse. The deep red that he had seen in the mirror before he came out of his room could testify to that fact.

“But that doesn’t mean that you didn’t need to be punished for it,” John continued. “It doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve more of a punishment.” What?! “I was scared for you, Dean. When you were by that wolf, I… I saw your whole life flash before _my_ eyes, just like that. I’m not ready for it to end two decades in. Are you?”

“No, sir,” Dean muttered, not able to look him in the eye. “I’m not.”

John nodded, and he leaned down to kiss Dean’s temple. “Good. I’m glad we agree.”

Even though John couldn’t see his face, he could tell that his son was expecting something more. “I don’t forgive you just yet, kiddo,” and Dean wanted to retch. He _needed_ forgiveness. Being on a good standing with his dad was like a drug.

“Dean,” he began delicately, not wanting to mess this up. He only had one shot to get it right, and after that, it was just doing damage control. “I think you need to take a break. A break from the life, a break from having to be the big, strong hunter who feels the need to prove himself to me… A break from being a grown-up.”

Dean’s head reeled with the possibilities of what the words, “a break from being a grown-up,” meant, but none of them seemed to make sense. But then, John pulled a bag over and started taking out its contents, and everything fell into place into Dean’s brain. He knew **exactly** what John meant now, and it made his stomach turn.

Dean’s instincts told him to jump off of John’s knees and run as far away as fast as he could in the opposite direction, but as soon as he even so much as twitched, the arm that remained around his waist tightened and held him back.   

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmured, laying a package of diapers on the table. Dean squirmed at the action, trying to struggle away from John. His efforts were futile. “Just hear Daddy out.”

“No way in hell!” Dean refused, all of his respect going out the window when a package of pacifiers came out of the shopping bag, too. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Dad?!”

“Nothing’s wrong with me, Dean,” he said patiently, deciding to ignore the bad words that Dean was saying. Typically, he would smack the taste out of either one of his sons’ mouths for speaking to him that way, but today, he simply let the words come out. After all, it was the last he’d be using them for a _long_ while. “I’m just trying to help you. And I suggest that you keep your voice down before you wake your brother up.”

The thought of Sam waking up to find **this** horrified Dean beyond all belief, so much so that he instantly quieted upon hearing those words. His silence left room for John to speak his piece in a low, deep rumble.

“I didn’t raise you to make stupid decisions, Dean. I understand why you did, but I didn’t raise you to. There’s no room for those in the life of a hunter. Your job is to listen to people who are more experienced than you and to do what you’re told until you’re the experienced one yourself. You’re certainly not supposed to try to take on a wolf by yourself when backup is available to you. That’s how children act. Adults are supposed to do the right thing. And if you can’t do the right thing and listen to me when it’ll literally save your life, well, there’s no excuse for that. Your turn to speak. _Quietly_ and _respectfully_.”

Dean, someone who usually thought intensely about his words before he spoke, blurted out the words that he had to say today. The rush of emotions inside of him was just too much to contain. He started off almost shouting (purely a natural response), but when John threatened to stick a pacifier in his mouth before he could say his piece, he adjusted his volume accordingly. “I don’t know what being a… being a _baby_ is supposed to teach me, _John,_ ” because that was all he deserved to be called right now. “I can learn my lesson as an adult. Wasn’t that belting enough? You can give me another one if you want, but I don’t see how **this** is necessary.” He didn’t want to beg for it not to happen. That would just tell John that he was afraid of it.

“It’s necessary, _Dean Campbell_ , because I’m not confident the usual punishments will deter you from doing it, or something like it, again. It’s necessary because I don’t want to ever have to do this with you again. And by the way, you don’t even get to call me by my name when you’re an adult, so you better cut that out right now.”

The tone of John’s voice was harsh, ice cold as he spoke, and it immediately sent Dean straight back into line. He didn’t know what would happen if he hadn’t been.

“Yes, sir,” he whimpered, and John replied only by saying, “ _Daddy_ is just fine.”

* * *

The struggle of getting Dean into his new clothing was a tough one. Just like his infant counterparts, he squirmed, kicked, and flailed to get away from the person dressing him. Only this time, it was because he was fighting the punishment as a whole. Now, though, he didn’t care if John knew he didn’t want it. He knew already, anyway, Dean was sure.

After the challenge of getting Dean to lie down on the nice, warm, onesie pajamas that John had picked out for him came that of trying to get him into a diaper. John had laid it down with the pajamas, but there was way too much movement to secure it to his body.

There was kicking and struggling and whining, squirming away to try to escape his fate. There was no way Dean  _ wanted  _ to be diapered, and John was insane for trying.  

“C’mon, please,” he whined, pouting as John attempted to strap the sides onto the diaper. “You don’t have to do this, Dad, I’ll be goodddd.”

Roughly, John flipped Dean sideways and gave two sharp, heavy smacks to his ass. “I already told you what my name is. I’d like not to have to tell you again.”

As John allowed him to drop down onto his back, Dean winced. “Sorry,” he mumbled, the slaps somewhat renewing the pain on his already dealt-with behind.

“Sorry what?” John asked sternly, giving Dean a look that anybody would want to hide from. “Or, rather, sorry **who**?”

Dean felt downright wrong saying it when it was forced, but he didn’t want to see what happened to him if he refused, especially if it meant another full spanking. “Daddy. ‘m sorry, Daddy.”

“Better. Now, stay still and let me get you dressed or you’re taking a trip over my knee.” The threat was quickly acknowledged. 

Dean was as still as a stone, except for maybe just a little bit of trembling, for the rest of the dressing process. John was bigger and stronger than he was, and he definitely didn’t need any more ache in his backside than he already had. Maybe he could rip it off later. 

“It’s okay, Deano,” John hushed, stroking his hair when he seemed to become a little bit frightened. His voice was soft now, almost terrifyingly so. Dean certainly wasn’t used to the sound of it being so sickeningly sweet. “I’m here. Daddy’s here. I’ll make sure you’re safe. I know it’s scary right now. I know.”

John snapped the last button on the adult-sized nightwear with ease, leaning down and planting a kiss on Dean's forehead when he was done. Dean hadn’t gotten as much affection as he had gotten in the past month as he’d gotten in the past twenty minutes.

Ripping open the package of pacifiers, John spoke. “All right, sweetie. You have your choice of a blue or red paci. Which one would you like?”

Dean assumed that ‘neither’ wasn’t an option. “Red, please.” Like fire trucks.

“Red it is for my baby boy,” John smiled, fishing around for it before popping it into Dean’s mouth. Once it was inside, he tossed the package back on the table and stood up, lifting Dean into a standing position with him. He was sure that he could carry him despite the fact that John was getting older and Dean wasn’t physically getting any younger. John was still as strong as ever.

Dean blushed at the prospect of being lifted, and he sheepishly hid his face in John’s shoulder. John just smiled and patted his back. “It’s okay, love. There’s no need to be embarrassed.” _What?!_ There was every reason in the **book** to be embarrassed! “We’re gonna have some breakfast now. Would you like that?”

A well-timed rumble of Dean’s stomach answered that question. He took out his pacifier only to speak. “No,” he lied. “I’m not hungry.” He clearly was. “I’m okay.”

In truth, Dean hadn’t eaten in two days. Once home, he spent time locked in his room trying to stay out of the path of John’s fury. He was more than starving by now.

“You’re not okay,” John asserted, deciding to let the talking go for now. He wasn’t going to be doing much of it after this, but there were some things that John just needed to know. “When was the last time you ate? No lying this time.” Lord knew he’d turned down every meal that John had offered him, and even the ones that Sam tried to bring him.

“Before the hunt,” Dean whispered, his sad voice barely audible. He was ashamed of himself. For what, he wasn’t sure. “Sorry.”

What John said next surprised Dean; it certainly wasn’t the reply he was expecting, of all possible replies. He had to take a deep breath and think a moment to say it, but the words that he had to say eventually came out nice and gently. “That’s okay, hon. I’ll get you full, don’t you worry.”

The pacifier popped back in his mouth, Dean had expected to be shouted at for not keeping up his strength. He wondered if all conversations would go smoothly from now on.

* * *

Sitting at the table, Dean expected his breakfast to be oatmeal, cereal, or even pancakes if John felt like whipping out his apron and cooking something. That decidedly was, in fact, _not_ the case.

John shuffled around the kitchen to make Dean’s breakfast, and the boy couldn’t see exactly what he was making due to the fact that John’s body blocked whatever he was holding in his hand.

He put it in the microwave, and Dean watched curiously as John stood in front of it. When it came out, and John turned around with it, though, his eyes widened with shock that rivaled that that he had experienced earlier in the morning.

John was holding a _bottle_ in his hand.

Upon the sight of it, Dean spit his pacifier (something which he was begrudgingly handling up until that point) out onto the floor and he asserted, “I am **not** drinking out of that.”

John, however, had a different view of the situation. “Dean,” he said slowly, patiently. Dean wondered how far he’d be able to push his father before he lost it. Anything would be better than this. “Little boys do what their daddies tell them to, and I’m telling you that you’re going to be drinking this bottle. It’s very healthy for you. And Dean, if you don’t stop using your big boy words, I’m going to have to put the pacifier gag in your mouth,” he warned, “and I don’t want to have to do that to my angel. Understand?”

The thought of a pacifier gag made Dean sick to his stomach. Just hearing those words made the regular pacifier sound like a dream straight out of Heaven. He wished it was back in his mouth just so he could never spit it out again because he knew John wasn’t afraid to use the gag.

Dean nodded, but John expected a verbal answer. At least when John was asking for a response, he was allowed to speak. “Yes, Daddy.” He hoped he’d get used to using that as John’s title soon if the punishment was going to go on as long as he thought it might.

“Good boy,” John praised, planting a kiss on the top of his son’s head before bending over to pick up the fallen pacifier. Popping the accesssory into his own mouth, he used his saliva to clean the nipple of the thing before placing it on the table for later.

Dean scrunched his nose at the thought that _his_ pacifier had been in anybody’s mouth but his own, but at least it was only his dad’s. What was a little bit of spit when he shared in half of John’s DNA anyway?

Dean reeled at the fact that his brain had just referred to that vile thing as his own. It wasn’t _his_ ; he was just using it was all. He was _borrowing_ it, simple as.

John had warned him that he’d get spanked if he didn’t drink his breakfast; it _was_ the most important meal of the day, after all, and John wanted Dean to be in tip-top shape in regards to his health.

Even with the warning and gentle coaxing, though, Dean had a hard time accepting the bottle. John fed it to him, or at least tried, since he wasn’t allowed to hold it himself. But, Dean still tried to squirm away from it and close his mouth to refuse it.

“I know, sweetie,” Daddy said, and gave him a sympathetic smile. “This is all new stuff, and it feels a bit weird, doesn’t it? But you’ll get sick if you don’t eat, buddy, and Daddy doesn’t want you to be sick. It’s only a little bit, and we can have something more hardy for lunch, but you’ve got to finish this first. Finish this, and then we can play together or watch TV. Your choice if you drink it all up. Does that sound good, Deano?”

Dean could only bring himself to nod, and John smiled, pulling up a chair so that he could feed his boy. Dean could only hope that doing what he was told meant no punishment; he wasn’t sure that he could handle another spanking (or worse, belting) for at least another week. So, it was in his best interest to at least try to be on his best behavior for his _Daddy_.

Once again, John held the nipple of the bottle up to Dean’s lips, and the boy reluctantly took it into his mouth.

Titling it back so that Dean could drink from it, John gave his son a bright, encouraging smile. “That’s it, baby. Drink it all up. Yummy, isn’t it?”

John had decided to mix chocolate-flavored protein powder in with the white milk. Dean needed the extra nutrients in his breakfast, but John at least wanted to make those nutrients tasty.

Dean nodded his head, and the motion made some milk spill onto his face.

“That’s okay,” Daddy assured immediately, brushing the milk off of the corner of Dean’s mouth with his thumb. “Maybe next time, we’ll put a bib on you, huh honey?”

Dean hummed absentmindedly as he kept his eyes trained on the bottle’s nipple. He had to admit, the mixture _was_ pretty delicious, even _if_ vitamins and minerals had somehow snuck their way in there.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Daddy chuckled warmly, and it made Dean’s stomach do flips. When was he going to stop being so damn **nice**? “That’s Daddy’s fault; I stopped feeding you. Let’s get back to it, hm?”

Dean nodded, relatively ready to oblige, and Daddy stuck the nipple back into his mouth. Dean was halfway through it before his eyes blew wide at the sound of his little brother’s voice.

“What the fuck?!”


	3. Chapter 3

Sam’s jaw dropped from shock, and Dean wanted to die of embarrassment. Though, he supposed, he’d have to get used to his brother seeing him if John wasn’t planning on keeping them separate. 

“What the hell is going on, Dad?” Sam wondered if he had woken up in a dream. There was no way what he was seeing could be real. 

John wasn’t phased by the shouting, and he continued to feed Dean his bottle while simultaneously removing the boy’s hands from covering his bright red face. “It’s okay, sweetheart. There’s no need to cover your face. It’s just Sammy.”

**Just** Sammy? This was more embarrassing than the time he’d pissed his pants in front of his entire kindergarten class. Speaking of pissing… No. There was no way. He’d just have to hold it. 

Unlike Dean, Sam had no qualms about shouting from the rooftops that this was  _ wrong  _ and who the hell did he think he was to do it?

Dean gave him side eyes that said,  _ “Don’t you fucking dare try it,”  _ but Sam ignored them and blew up in John’s face. “What the fuck is this?! Why is he wearing those clothes?! Why is he drinking from a bottle?! This is just fucking weird!”

John looked at Sam sternly, a stare that Dean would wither under if it was given to him. Sam, though, just returned John’s gaze with a challenging expression. Like always. 

“Because your brother did wrong and now he’s being punished,” John said patiently, his stare not faltering. “And if you don’t watch your words  _ and  _ your damn tone _ ,  _ you’ll be tasting soap in your filthy mouth as you’re over my knee whether I have to pry your lips apart or not.” Sam was lucky those words weren’t,  _ “Or you’ll be getting the same treatment.”  _ He didn’t know what he’d do if they were. 

“This isn’t right,” Sam growled, not one to back down from a challenge, especially when things concerned his brother. “Put him back to normal right now.”

“Or you’ll do  _ what _ ?” John spat, but he remained calm. He wasn’t going to rise to Sam’s level of anger in front of the baby. He usually would, but here and now wasn’t the time or place. “I may not be much bigger due to your crazy growth spurts, but I still am, and on top of that, I’m much stronger. I can have you pinned down and have my belt off in five seconds flat. So, I suggest you let me do whatever the  _ hell  _ I want with no protests or I’ll make that move and I won’t hesitate, Samuel.  **Am I clear** ?”

“You think a little spanking is going to keep me for standing up for Dean?” Sam scoffed. John obviously didn’t know him at all. “Go ahead. Beat my ass black and blue and keep me from enjoying any taste for a month. I don’t care. It’s still not right.”

“I’m sorry, when did I die and you suddenly become his father?” John asked, his head tilting to the side in confusion. “ **I** get to decide what’s right and wrong for him. Not you.”

“We’ll see about that,” Sam replied. “I’m going to go take a shower.” Before he left, he gave Dean a look that said,  _ “I’ll think of something.”  _ He just needed some time. __ And then, he was off. He regretted not being able to do more at a sooner moment. 

Once Sam was out of the room (after having stomped off), John noticed that Dean had finished his bottle (only because the nipple was oversized and nearly impossible to spit out; he wanted to disappear drinking that thing in Sam’s plain view) and was sitting there patiently, albeit with tears in his eyes. 

Turning back to him, he smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry about that, buddy.” Gently, he reached out and wiped the tears from Dean’s eyes with the pad of his thumb. “I know, it was very loud and mean and scary. But it’s over now, okay?”

No. What was mean was Dean’s predicament and what was scary was John’s unrelenting soft tone and caring words. Dean would have to get them to stop somehow. 

Dean was only crying because Sam couldn’t help him, at least not yet. He’d helped Sam out of so much, and he knew the kid was no match for John, but it still upset him. But he didn’t need his Daddy to wipe his tears. He could take care of them on his own. 

The brown-haired man (or, as of currently, boy), reached his hands up as he sniffled, rubbing furiously at his forest green eyes. He never wanted tears to well in them again.

Daddy, though, wasn’t having any of it and carefully wrapped his hands around Dean’s wrists, bringing them down to rest on his lap. “No, no, honey. There’s no need for that. You’re gonna hurt those pretty eyes of yours doing that.”

Dean kicked his legs out, purposely aiming for his father, but it didn’t hurt him at all. He didn’t even seem phased by it. The only one hurt was Dean, who tried but failed to hold more tears back from coming to the surface. 

It wasn’t long before he was in Daddy’s lap, inconsolably sobbing and shaking. This was all so stupid! Why did he have to he such an idiot on the hunt?! He wasn’t even allowed to  _ talk _ to John anymore. He had nobody to share his thoughts with. All he could do was  **cry** like a  _ fucking baby _ . 

He tried pounding on John’s chest and swinging at his face and he tried screaming and he tried bawling his pretty little eyes out, but nothing worked and nothing got Daddy angry. He just held him tighter, shushed him more, and rocked him better. 

“Shh, shh, my love,” John hushed, rocking them from side to side as he repeatedly ran a hand through Dean’s short brown hair. “I know. This is hard and it’s scary and it’s all new. It’s a change, but you’ll adjust soon. I’ll help you, sweetie. It’ll be okay.”

Kisses rained down on Dean’s forehead and temples as their bodies went. Dean knew that John really needed to become a more affectionate father if hugging and kissing was such a rarity, an oddity. It should have been making him feel better, but it only made him feel worse.

He tried to struggle away from John, wanting to get off of his lap and run away to hide, but John’s grip remained tight. Dean wasn’t going anywhere. 

“Just take some deep breaths, baby,” he instructed, beginning to do as his instructions said and hoping that Dean would mimic his actions. “That’s it. In and out, nice and slow.” 

John moved his free hand to rub Dean’s back in (hopefully) soothing circles, and Dean hiccuped and coughed as he tried to breathe properly. He was close to a panic attack, and if John didn’t calm him down fast, the situation could escalate to be a lot worse. So, John did the only thing he could think of, and he sang. 

Clearing his throat, he began quietly as he built confidence, “ _ Oh baby let me be, your lovin' teddy bear…”  _

It took Dean a moment to notice that John had begun to sing, and it startled him when he did. John  _ never  _ sang. And the last time he heard this song… even when he stood, he was barely past John’s knee. 

_ “I don't want to be your tiger, cause tigers play too rough… I don’t wanna be your lion, cause lions ain’t the kind you love enough...” _

Dean laid his head on John’s shoulder, hiccuping furiously, and wrapped his arms around his waist, squeezing tight. Maybe, just maybe, if he did it hard enough, all of his pain would go away. It was a silly, childish thought, but he couldn’t help but think it.

John just hugged him tighter and sang a bit louder, and it wasn’t long before Dean remembered to continue his breathing. 

_ “I just want to be, your teddy bear…” _

A kiss on his head, and continued melodic words calmed Dean down even more. John had to repeat the song at least three more times before Dean was completely calm, but it was more than worth it to the man. 

He continued holding his boy as the trembles of his body reduced to nothing, and even as he stilled, Dean’s grasp didn’t lessen. He had so many things to say, so much to express, but all he could do was sit there and listen to the beating of his Daddy’s heart.

But as soon as the beating of John’s heart was the only thing he had to keep him occupied, things began to be called back to his attention, like his filling bladder and the ache in his ass.

His lower half started to move, and soon, he was squirming on John’s knees, trying to dull the pain as well as keep his bladder in check. He wished he could stop, because the movement brought redness to his cheeks, but if he did, a lot more would be going on on John’s thighs than some shifting.

His movements, of course, did not go unnoticed by the patriarch of the family. He knew it could be one of two things making him move like that, so he took his best guess. He always used to do it when he was biologically this young. “Deano,” Daddy rumbled into Dean’s ear, “You don’t have to hold it in. You can just let go, honey. You’ve got a diaper on. It’ll catch it.”

There was no way that Dean was going to use a  _ diaper  _ to go to the bathroom. He was going to use the toilet, like a twenty year old should. “No,” he whined, caught between protesting loudly or quietly; Sammy already knew, so it wouldn’t bring any attention to him that wasn’t already there. And maybe if he did it loud enough, it would get John mad. But for some reason, Dean didn’t  **want** to see John get mad. Once he got past the fact that it was scary and frankly, creepy, the kindness was actually kind of nice. Besides, he had already disappointed John enough for at least a month; he was too ashamed of himself to do it anymore. “I wanna use the toilet, Daddy.” Maybe if he talked like John expected, he’d be allowed to talk to begin with. As he said it, though, he hoped he wouldn’t have to talk very much; it made him feel disgusting inside to have to do so, at least like this. He shouldn’t need to say things like this; he should just be able to go to the bathroom whenever he wanted.

“No, no,” Daddy said, stroking Dean’s hair. “The potty’s for big boys; little boys use their diapers. It’s okay to use your diaper. Daddy will change it right after, I promise.”

Dean huffed frustratedly at the statement, his bottom lip jutting out in an involuntary little pout as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m a big boy. I need to use the bathroom. Daddy, please.” The arm secured around his stomach, the one pushing on his bladder? Well, that didn’t help his case at all. 

“You’re not a big boy, Deano,” Daddy reminded, and Dean buried his face in his neck. His scent helped to untense the boy, if only just a little. “You’re my little sweetheart. You’ll get used to wearing the diaper. It’ll only take a little practice, and the more you use it, the less weird it’ll feel. Just try it, please, for Daddy? It’ll make you feel much better.”

“But it’ll be gross,” Dean complained into John’s neck, his muttering muffled by the skin against his mouth. “I’ll be all wet.”

“I know you will, buddy, but I’ll change you right away. You won’t be wet for very long at all. All you have to do is tell me when you go.” Though, John had a feeling that he’d know regardless of whether or not Dean informed him. 

Dean was still skeptical (as well as aghast at the fact that John was really going to make him use a diaper) and he decided that he would just hold his urine for as long as the universe allowed. So, he just shook his head and Daddy sighed. 

John was willing to give up for now, knowing that Dean’s bladder would let go naturally when it was full enough. All he knew was that, and the fact that he wasn’t excited for the challenge of Dean’s fecal matter. “Okay, Deano. You don’t have to use your diaper right now.” But he  _ would  _ be using it sooner or later. “Now, what do you wanna do, huh? Wanna watch some TV or play with some toys?”

Dean debated the option with a thorough thought process; if they played with toys, maybe Daddy had gotten blocks and he could actually build something cool. On the other hand, though, if they watched TV, maybe he would at least put on something moderately grown-up, like something with superheros. 

But before he could give the answer that he wanted to give, a loud yawn answered the question for him. 

John wouldn’t do this every day. He couldn’t allow Dean to sleep at all hours and expect him to sleep through the night, or even for his naps to be successful. But Dean had had a very busy, tiring morning and it was understandable that his eyes were drooping and falling shut. Today, John would make an exception.

“All right, neither it is,” he said. “No worries. I know you’re so sleepy. Let’s go get you into bed for a nap.” John counted his lucky stars that Dean was already in his pajamas; he didn’t want to even so much as imagine the struggle that dressing him again would be.

Dean nodded and tried to stand up so that he could walk to bed, but Daddy wasn’t about to let that happen. Instead, they stood up together and John settled Dean on his hip. Dean was amazed that he could do that much, nevermind actually walk with him. Frankly, he was afraid of the man throwing his back out doing it. All he could do was hope that he didn’t. 

The two of them didn’t go to Dean’s room as the boy had expected, but instead, went down the hall to John’s. Dean was grateful to be getting a nap; the less time he spent around Sam (and John, for that matter) right now, the better.

John set him down on his feet when they got there, and he adjusted the comforter by pulling it back. Then, he had Dean climb in and he tucked him into the covers. 

Once Dean was settled, he excused himself for just a moment. 

Dean waited patiently, humming to himself while waiting for John to return. Even if it was only for a few moments, he was glad to be rid of John. It gave him a chance to breathe after his whirlwind of a morning. 

When John returned, Dean couldn’t see his face due to the fact that he was carrying an absurd amount of pillows. Dean couldn’t help but laugh, a laugh that was probably the only laugh he’d be getting for a very long time. John just looked so ridiculous made up of only pillows and feet. 

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” Daddy asked from behind the wall of bedding. The sound of Dean’s laugh was one of his favorites. 

Walking in the general direction of Dean, John dropped the pillows on the bed and gave his boy a big smile. “Hi.”

Dean was embarrassed for laughing now, and as for the reason, he wasn’t sure why. He imagined it was because he was doing what John expected of him,  _ wanted  _ from him. He hoped he’d get over that soon, because the sight of John looking so  **happy** made him sad that he couldn’t always live up to the man’s expectations.

“These pillows are in case you roll over,” Daddy informed him softly, beginning to place them around Dean’s body as well as on the floor. He knew damn well that Dean didn’t need them, but it was just another way to make him feel even more little. The faster he regressed, the better. It would only make him easier to handle. “So you don’t hurt yourself by falling off the bed. Do you want Daddy to sleep with you?”

Dean’s answer was immediate, but he hoped that the quickness of it didn’t hurt John’s feelings. “No, thank you.” He needed some time away from everybody, from every **thing** . 

“Thank you for being so polite, baby,” John praised and leaned down to kiss Dean on the forehead. “Sleep tight, okay? I love you.”

Dean had a hard time resting after John left the room, his head spinning from the morning’s events and John’s new personality. It must have taken him a half an hour to fall asleep as opposed to his usual thirty seconds. 

Sleep was a small reprieve from reality, because at least in his dreams, he was an adult. He wasn’t looking forward to waking back up and being back at square one, but at least sleep was something he’d get to do every night. He wasn’t in his life twenty-four seven, and that gave him peace.

* * *

 

When John exited the bedroom after shutting out the light and stopping in the kitchen to wash Dean’s bottle, he made his way to the living room and sat on the couch. He flipped mindlessly through the channels, just trying to find something to pass the time until Dean woke up from his nap, or, rather, until he had to go in there to wake Dean up from his nap. That kid would sleep all day if John let him. 

He was halfway into some program or another about cooking before he noticed that he now wasn’t the sole inhibitor of the room and his second son had at some point entered. 

Sam’s long hair was still damp from his shower, and he had a frustrated expression on his face. 

John looked at him curiously, muting the television so that it didn’t distract him. “What can I do for you, Samuel?”

Sam simply stared at him intensely (but it of course did not intimidate John; John found it amusing that he would try), and informed his father, “We need to talk.”


	4. Chapter 4

John was patient when he spoke, but in reality, he was nearing his breaking point with Sam. Unfortunately, it came pretty easy. It was something he needed to work on. 

“If this  _ talk  _ is to yell at me more about how your brother doesn’t deserve what he had coming to him, you can turn right back around and march out of here,” John warned, already tired of hearing about it. He was only doing what he thought was best, but yet, he knew Sam would continue to bring it up. That was the way his youngest was; he would talk and talk and  _ talk  _ until he got his way. Always.

“I don’t want to yell anymore,” Sam said carefully. That was a first. “I just want to understand.” Sam was a smart boy, even if he got a bit too riled up at times. He knew that if he yelled, the only thing he was going to get in return was more yelling, and he had to play the game that would get him the answers that he needed. Being calm was it. 

John, naturally, was suspicious of his son’s sudden penchant for polite discussion. Typically, Sam would yell and scream until he was blue in the face to get what he wanted, and now, all he wanted to do was understand why John had done what he had? Something wasn’t right. He could feel it. But that didn’t mean he was any less intrigued. So, putting his strange feeling aside, he invited Sam to sit down. Hearing him out couldn’t hurt, could it?

John’s expression was far from warm as Sam sat down on the opposite side of the couch. It didn’t need to be. 

Sam knew that keeping his distance from his father was the best course of action, so he sat as far away from him as he could while still being close enough to engage in a mildly quiet conversation. He knew that Dean was probably exhausted after his hell of a morning; he wanted him to rest. 

“So?” John asked, looking Sam directly in the eye. “What is it that you want to understand about the situation, Sam? Because from where I’m sitting, it’s pretty straightforward.” Dean needed a punishment and John gave him one. It was simple. 

Sam sighed. He knew that this wasn’t straightforward, and he knew that John should know it, too. How was reducing a grown man to an infantile state as punishment for making a grown choice straightforward?

“Why did you choose that punishment for Dean, out of all of the punishments that you could have picked? What are you trying to prove?”

John sighed, too, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t trying to  _ prove  _ anything. “I did what I did to Dean because he did something so idiotic that no other punishment would be enough of a deterrent to make the cut. I needed something to ensure that he would never do anything like that again, and I’m sure that he’ll never want to repeat this experience again.” Of course, that wasn’t the whole truth, but that was all that he was willing to tell Sam, at least for now. He wasn’t the type to share any more than he had to.

“How long are you gonna keep him like that?” Sam asked curiously. Though he didn’t agree with John’s point of view, he’d accept it, at least for now, to get the other answers that he needed. 

“As long as I feel it takes until he’s learned his lesson,” was the best answer that John could give. Frankly, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. He was only concerned with getting him in that position so that he couldn’t do any more harm to himself. 

Sam’s face scrunched at the indeterminate reply. He wanted clear answers to clear questions. “And how long do you think that’ll be? How can you tell when that is?”

“I don’t know when, but I’ll be able to feel it. I guess I’ll just  _ know _ .”

Sam shook his head. John’s “dad powers” weren’t enough of an answer for him, but he supposed that was all that he was going to be getting, at least for now. He would have to accept it. 

Sam’s next question was quiet and calculated, almost as if he was afraid to hear the answer to it. Almost as if it was better off not being asked at all. “Do I still get to talk to him?”

John was silent for a long time. Not because he had to think over the answer, but because he was so shocked that Sam felt the need to ask it at all. An incredulous look on his face, he informed his youngest, “Of course you can talk to him. He’s still your brother. You just can’t talk to him about adult things.”

Sam wasn’t sure what childish things he knew anymore, but he supposed he would just have to follow John’s lead and do the best that he could. Of course, that would only be when John was looking; Sam was planning on saying whatever the hell he wanted when the man was out of earshot. “One more question,” he stated, and looked John in the eyes for it. “Why are you so nice to him when it’s supposed to be a punishment?”

Sam hadn’t seen very much at all of how John treated Dean, but he saw enough to warrant asking that question. 

“Sam, would you bark orders at a baby? Would you yell at them or treat them poorly?”

“No,” Sam muttered, “But Dean’s not a real baby.” But that definitely wasn’t saying that he wanted Dean to be treated poorly; he would take Dean being treated kindly over him being treated badly any day. It was just odd to him that John wasn’t himself. He just wanted to understand why.

“You’re right. He’s not. But the point is to treat him as if he is. That’s the whole punishment, Sam. Making him fully dependent, and that means regressing him. We can’t do this halfway. We have to be all in, or else it won’t work as well.”

“Who is this we?” Sam asked, quirking an eyebrow. “This is you. I have nothing to do with it. Don’t include me in this.  _ You _ have to be all in this thing, not me.” If there was one thing that they had to get straight, this was it. 

John wanted to shoot back and say that Sam had better watch his tone of voice, that he was losing his respect and that he’d better find it if he wanted to be able to ask more questions in the future, but before he could say any of that, he was cut off. 

This interruption came in the form of the baby monitor on an end table in the living room. It had begun to transmit sounds coming from John’s bedroom, and those sounds happened to come from Dean. Of course, there had been some mild shifting and sighing and such previously, but John had learned to ignore that. This was different.

He could tell that Dean was still asleep because his voice sounded far away, but it was also obvious that he was dreaming, and by the words coming out of his mouth, John knew that the dream wasn’t a good one. 

Most of his speech was incoherent, though John could make out some of it; the bits that he could understand had him on his feet and ready to spring into action and save him if necessary. 

It was only when Dean started to scream that John rushed to the bedroom. 

When he got there, he saw that Dean was trembling as he shifted around rather violently on the bed. He could also spot the tears in his eyes from a million miles away. John knew that he would have to wake Dean up and  _ fast _ before the night terror went any further downhill than it already was. 

Walking over to the bed and taking a firm grip on Dean’s shoulder, John shook him with moderately rough force. “Dean! Wake up!” 


	5. Chapter 5

Dean was a notoriously heavy sleeper, but today was the exception. He couldn’t help but shoot up after the second or third time John jostled him. After all, the nightmare racing through his brain made it easy for him to want to escape.

Despite the fact that he had been brought back to reality, though, he remained trembling and tearful, unable to stop it even if he tried.

“It’s okay, Dean,” John said softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling his son close to him. “It was just a dream,” he assured, beginning to rub circles into his back. “It wasn’t real.”

Shockingly to John, Dean immediately clung to him and seemed unwilling to let go (not that John would make him.) “It was so… so scary,” Dean informed him, his big green eyes pouring tears like a summer rain. “It came after me and you weren’t there to save me!”

John knew what Dean meant instantly; he had dreamt about the attack on his life nights before, the werewolf that almost claimed his being. It was just that in his dream, things didn’t end the right way.

He just held his son tighter upon hearing this, ignoring the fact that the boy’s diaper was positively soaked. He’d deal with that in a moment. Dean’s feelings came first.

He rocked them side to side methodically, humming along to a tune that Dean didn’t know. John just knew that the rumbling and vibrating of his chest would calm Dean down. It always had when he was young. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he assured, repeatedly stroking Dean’s hair. “That was all just a bad, bad dream. I saved you, remember? Daddy took care of that thing with his gun just like that. It’s not going to come back for you. You’re all safe here with me. I know it was very scary, but it wasn’t real. I’ll always save you, Deano.”

If that statement did anything, it made Dean cling to John tighter, as if he was saying, “Prove it.”

John simply leaned down and kissed the crown of Dean’s head, smiling gently against it as he softly repeated, “I’ll always save you.”

* * *

 

It wasn’t long before Dean’s tears had dried and his shaking had subsided, until everything was in its rightful order and he was calm once more. Unfortunately, though, there was no chance that he was going to be getting back to sleep anytime soon, so staying up proved to be what was going to happen.

Unfortunately, the minute that Dean was no longer focused on the horrible nightmare that he had just experienced, his attention was called elsewhere and he noticed his splayed legs and the not in the least dry feeling in his crotch region. Oh god. He had _wet_ himself, hadn’t he?

Almost instantaneously, his entire body blushed, going ruby red. He couldn’t believe what he had done, and he knew that John was aware that he had done it. Why hadn’t he mentioned it? Dean feared that he would have to call attention to himself, and he waited for as long as he could bear, but he soon realized that that would have to be the case. He didn’t want to sit in this for any longer than he absolutely had to, but he was even less excited about the prospect of John touching parts that he hadn’t in years.

He spoke meekly about the situation, his voice rivaling that of a newly-born mouse. It took a good moment for John to even realize that he had spoken. “Daddy?” he asked, unable to look his father in the eye. “Uhm…”

“Speak up, baby boy,” John encouraged, adjusting his head to look Dean in the face. Dean simply buried his own in John’s chest to hide it. “I can’t hear you.”

“I’m wet,” Dean admitted in a mumble, his voice muffled by the strong muscle of John’s front. “Can you change my diaper?”

John wasn’t trying to make things more difficult for Dean, and he certainly wasn’t trying to pretend as if he hadn’t heard him when he really had. He genuinely couldn’t. He tried to remove Dean’s face from his chest, but Dean wouldn’t budge. He actually fought it. John’s only hope was that he increased his volume. “What was that, honey?”

“I’m **wet** ,” Dean practically growled, frustrated with having to say it twice; it was embarrassing enough the first time around.

Oh. _Oh!_ John was a bit surprised by the tone of his voice, but he nodded anyway. “Okay. That’s okay. Daddy’ll change you and you’ll be all dry real soon.”

It was only them that the man looked over to where Dean had slept and noticed the big, liquid puddle in the middle of the bed. Changing his diaper wouldn’t fix this. He was soaked through, and although John was just noticing it, more needed to be done to remedy the situation.

“We’re gonna have to give you a bath, kiddo,” John informed him, and somehow, that was even worse. It wouldn’t be just a few swipes of a wet nap before the diaper went on; John would be **washing** him, his entire body. All he wanted was a quick shower and to get it over with. The last thing he wanted to do was sit in the mess that he had made while John took care of cleaning him up.

Dean wished that he could hide even deeper than he was at the current moment, but that was impossible. All he could do was internally scream and wish that it was over with quickly. It wasn’t something that he could avoid. He wanted and **needed** to get clean; it was just that he’d rather be taking care of it himself, but obviously, that was the furthest thing from an option.

“You can walk to the bathroom if you want,” and John was gracious for allowing it. He knew Dean would take any grown-up thing he could get. But the truth was that John already had to change his bottoms and didn’t want to have to change his top, too.

When Dean crawled off of John’s lap, he wasted no time in heading to the bathroom on his own two feet. When he got there, he undressed himself, too, figuring that if John hadn’t specifically outlawed it, it must have been allowed. Boy, was he wrong.

John came into the room not long after Dean had left the bedroom, but this time, he was only in his boxers with a towel in hand. Luckily, what had leaked through Dean’s diaper hadn’t leaked through to his underwear.

When he saw that Dean was standing there naked (of course with his hands cupping and covering his essential parts), he furrowed his brow and sighed. He hadn’t told Dean that he could strip. But, then again, he supposed, he hadn’t told him _not_ to either. He would have to let it go for this time, but that didn’t mean that Dean wasn’t going to get a warning. “Dean. It’s okay that you did it this time because you didn’t know and I didn’t tell you not to, but next time, you wait until I undress you. You don’t go ahead and do it yourself. Little boys need their daddy’s help. Okay?”

Dean could only bring himself to nod and stare at the tile floor beneath him. “Mhm,” he acknowledged, and John stepped forward to kiss his forehead before starting to run the bath for his son. Not too hot, not too cold, but rather, just right. Perfect for Dean to be comfortable. For good measure, he added in what was probably way too many bubbles than necessary. The tub was practically overflowing with them, but it made it more fun. What was the harm?

When the bath was ready, John shut off the water and made sure that the temperature was okay. He set the towel that he had brought, along with a facecloth, on the closed toilet seat, and then he took Dean’s hand and led him to the tub.

Once they were in front of it, Daddy instructed him to lift his left leg and step in very carefully, and follow his left leg shortly with the right. Then, once he was inside, he helped him carefully lower himself down.

Thankfully, the tub was wide enough for Dean to be able to sit facing the door and not the faucet while still having plenty of room to shift around. They all knew that they had lucked out finding this place.

Dean was grateful for the fact that John started from the top with intent to work his way down. At least that would give him time to get acclimated to the situation.

Dean had just showered the night before, so the upper half of his body really didn’t need this bath, but he wasn’t going to tell John that. He didn’t want to try to argue himself out of it, or even worse, allow him to skip straight to his genitals. So, he simply stayed silent and allowed John to wet and scrub shampoo into his short, brown hair. He even laughed when John gave him a beard made out of bubbles.

Once Daddy rinsed it off, he worked his way down Dean’s back, chest, stomach, and shoulders. By some grace, he even skipped to his legs and feet before taking care of Dean’s unmentionables. He was starting to feel like the anticipation of it was making things worse.

What surprised Dean was that John actually apologized when it was time to clean his privates. “I know, I’m sorry. This is the worst part, but I have to do it. I know it’s uncomfortable, sweetie. I’ll try to be quick.”

Dean tried his best to block John from getting to where he had to go by covering himself with both of his hands. Every time John would move one out of the way, he would put the other in its place, and that went on for a while until John got tired of trying and asking and simply gathered Dean’s wrists in one hand and held them out of the way while he used his free hand to soap up the washcloth once again and do what had to be done.

It didn’t take long for Dean to be red hot once more; it seemed like that his was perpetual state, now, and he despised it. But he just couldn’t help heating up every time he was embarrassed. He counted his blessings, at least, that Sam wasn’t the one doing this.

To John’s credit, he tried his best to distract Dean from what he was doing by engaging him in conversation. It didn’t work too terribly well, but at least it was something. “So, Deano. What do you want to do after your bath? Are you hungry? Do you want to play with toys? How about watching some TV?”

Dean nodded, and simply replied, “Hungry.” If he could get by on the bare minimum of talking, that was great. It was what John wanted, anyway.

Though the bottle of milk tasted very good, it wasn’t as filling as Dean had hoped that it would be. But John had promised him real food later on, and he hoped he meant the next time that he was fed. He was sure that he’d do all of the things on his list at some point, so he might as well start with a full stomach.

“All right, then,” John said as he worked to wash Dean as best he could while keeping him comfortable. Dean still squirmed and blushed throughout the whole process, despite the conversation. He wondered how long it would take him to get used to the process. As a matter of fact, he wondered just how long this punishment would go on. But he knew that was a topic to obsess over when he had more downtime to spare. Not when he was in a position to have a fit about it where people could see. “Daddy’ll make you something more hardy this time, promise.”

It felt like forever before John pulled his hand away and let Dean’s wrists go. Instinctively, Dean began to rub at them; John had rough hands. Sometimes, the twenty year old wished that he would moisturize, even if it was only once in a while. Though, he had to admit that he would take a lot more to start with. One didn’t erase years of work-roughened skin with one use of lotion.

“I’m sorry, love,” he apologized, helping him take care of the ache. Once Dean looked satisfied, John nodded and said, “Now, let’s get you out of this tub, huh, kid?”


	6. Chapter 6

Dean wasn’t wrapped in his towel immediately. Instead, John took the time to dry his wet hair. Unfortunately, that left Dean naked and shivering.

Thankfully, it didn't take long for John to notice and remove the towel from Dean's head and instead wrap it around his body tightly in an attempt to bring him at least some warmth. “I'm sorry baby,” he apologized, running his hands up and down the towel to generate heat before sitting down on the closed toilet seat, pulling him onto his knee and hugging him to his chest. At least this time when he got his shirt wet, it would only be water, and not a bodily fluid. “We’ll get you all warm,” he promised. “All Daddy’s got to do is dry you off and get you dressed. That doesn't sound too bad, does it?”

Dean simply sat there pouting, his teeth chattering even as he was wrapped in the towel. That drew a laugh from John, and Dean wondered why it was so funny. He just hoped that being cozy would come sooner rather than later.

John didn't waste much time after that, instead preferring to pick Dean up bridal-style and carry him back to John's bedroom. For the duration of his punishment, Dean would be sharing a room with John, and that's where all of his new stuff would be.

Gathering a fresh diaper from the bag in the corner (which he had previously moved from the research room), John sat Dean on the floor to rummage through the clothing in the top drawer. That's where all of his baby clothes would be kept. John was in luck when he found a onesie with an image of Dean's favorite dessert, declaring that he was a “cutiepie.” John had always loved the shirts with silly little puns on them. He used to buy them for the boys every chance he got.

“Sorry, honeybun, but we’re going to have to get you dressed on the floor today,” John informed him, pointing at the hardwood and instructing him to lay down. “I know it’s not very comfy, but Daddy has to clean those yucky sheets before we can use them again. Next time, I promise we’ll use the bed.”

John was right about the floor not being comfortable, and Dean was glad that he’d only have to lie there for a second. The only thing that would make the bunker better was if it had come with carpeting.

Luckily for Dean, the worst part of a typical diaper change had already been taken care of in the bath. Now, it would just be like the one that he had before when John was initially putting him into the first diaper. It was just a slip it on, close the tabs, and be done with it kind of deal. He could handle that much.

“Gosh, Deano,” John began as he lowered himself onto the floor between Dean’s legs. He had him lift, and the diaper went under his butt just like that. “I wish there was some kind of magic spell to make you smaller and Daddy a bit younger, too. All this carrying you around and getting on the floor is hard on my knees and back.” Good. At least John was suffering a bit, too.

Dean didn’t make a fuss as he was strapped into his diaper, and he actually helped John slide his arms and head into the onesie. At least he could basically dress himself under the guise of being Daddy’s little helper. That was something, and it was better than nothing. And honestly, if he wasn’t the one wearing it, he’d say that the onesie was actually pretty cute.

“Okay, Dean,” John said as he stood and helped Dean up once the onesie was buttoned. He reminded himself to shave Dean during his next bath; leg hair was unbecoming on a baby. He just had been so focused on getting him clean that he had forgotten. Once Dean was standing, John bent and lifted, and with an ache in his back, Dean was on his hip. God, he hoped he’d never have to do this with Sam; that kid was a giraffe. He would never be able to carry him around. Well, at least not without a costly reparative surgery once all was said and done. “What do we feed you?” John’s plan was to simply name things and watch Dean’s face for his reaction. The thing that he appeared the most excited about would be the thing that he got. “How about… some scrambled eggs and toast?” No… “Or some oatmeal?” Not a chance. He also went through a breakfast sandwich, an omelette with sausage, and breakfast cereal. Nothing seemed to strike a chord with Dean until he asked, “Oh! Daddy knows. French toast?” It was always Dean’s favorite growing up. Well, his favorite real breakfast food, anyway. If John let him have pie every day as his AM meal, he would be all over _that_ idea. But French toast would do just fine. John could tell by the way that Dean’s eyes gleamed and got a bit bigger than normal.

“French toast it is,” he chuckled, making his way to the kitchen. Dean was grateful to be sat on the island in the middle of the room. He was not happy, however, to find that his feet wouldn’t touch the ground. “Can you see from there?” That was a rhetorical. Dean would assume that all questions were unless told otherwise. “Maybe you can watch Daddy while he cooks, huh? I would go grab you one of your new toys, but I wouldn’t want to leave you up on that counter all by yourself. Being unattended is how little babies get hurt, isn’t it, Deano?”

Dean just nodded and smiled, but the minute that John turned his back, he scowled. Not only had he lost his sense of personal space and any semblance of modesty, but his privacy was gone, too! This punishment was getting worse by the minute.

He couldn’t see very much of what John was cooking in the pan due to the fact that his body was blocking Dean’s clear line of vision, but every once in a while, when he moved, Dean could check on the progress. But, mostly, he was stuck inside his head, thoughts racing through.

Now that he had some time when he wasn’t being spoken to, fed, touched, or trying to sleep, he could take notice of more things and put more than a second’s thought into what was going around him and happening to him.

The first thing that he noticed was the feeling of the diaper that he was wearing. It was snug around his hips and felt soft and thick beneath him. Because the diapers were rather large, his legs splayed naturally, though not as wide as they had after his nap.

It was only the fact that they were **diapers** that was embarrassing; if this softness and feeling of being secure was in a regular pair of underwear, he definitely wouldn’t mind that.

The second thing that he decided to pay attention to was the fact that John seemed so happy to have the opportunity to do this to him. Was he enjoying the fact that Dean was being punished for something that he had done wrong? Did he revel in the fact that he was the one who was able to give that punishment? Or, alternatively, was he enjoying it because he was getting an opportunity to treat Dean in a way that he hadn’t been able to in years? Was he just happy to, in some warped fashion, return to life before hunting? Dean hoped that it was the latter; at least then, it wouldn’t mean that John was sick in some way.

But before he could ponder a third thing, John turned around and flashed him a big, shining smile. Dean still hadn’t gotten used to those. “How’s my little boy doing back there?”

Dean just smiled and nodded and hoped that that would be enough. It was, but he wondered how long he could get away with it; he was good at faking being happy, but was he good enough to fly under John’s radar for this whole time? Besides, maybe he didn’t **have** to fake it; John _knew_ that this was a punishment and he _knew_ that Dean wouldn’t like it. But, for some reason, Dean found pretending to be the better option. After all, hurting or upsetting John again was the last thing he wanted to do.

Satisfied, John turned back to the stove and resumed cooking. From what Dean had seen, the food was almost done; it wouldn’t be long before he was eating, now, and his rumbling stomach was grateful for that fact.

It was only a couple more minutes before John turned around again, this time with a plate in hand. Not only had he buttered and put syrup on the food, he had also topped it with canned whipped cream and strawberries. Dean always made his the same way, and it was so simple, but somehow, his never turned out like John’s.

“Okay,” Daddy beamed. “Time to eat some yummy food.”

John fed Dean his late breakfast in the privacy of the kitchen, not keen on the idea of shifting him to another room, mostly because it was an easier clean up if his surroundings got dirty.

However, after he had finished eating and had had some time to digest, it was time to move on to the next activity of the day: playing with his new toys.

Sam was in the living room, watching some show or the other on the television, when John and Dean made their entrance. Immediately, he shut off the TV and attempted to get off of the couch to go to his room; he wanted to witness the least amount of John infantilizing his brother as he could. But John had other ideas.

“Sit,” he instructed firmly, pointing at the floor. Not only was he going to stay in the room with Dean, Sam was going to interact with him. Granted, part of the reason that John was doing it was to get back at him for his little fit that morning, but it was also to embarrass and humiliate Dean just the slightest bit more, knowing that he had absolutely no desire to be _seen_ by Sam in his current state, nevermind **play** with him. Though, he was sure he didn’t have to go out of his way to embarrass Dean; just following a normal routine was enough.

“I’m going to my room,” Sam asserted, and kept walking, only to be stepped at the doorway by John before he could exit.

“No, you’re not,” he shot back, and kept his hand planted on his son’s chest.

Sam stepped away so that John was no longer touching him. He needed permission for something like that; he would never be as receptive as Dean to unwanted physical contact. “Yes, I am,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m not going to sit around and watch you do this to him.”

John decided to try the nice, coaxing approach first; he had gotten into the groove of doing that, even just from being nice today. “Just watch him for me for two minutes while I get pants on, son. Two minutes.” Of course, in that plan, he’d leave him for much longer, but Sam still refused. So, John had to get a bit more forward. “Here’s how it’s going to go. You asked me earlier how long Dean would be a baby? Every time you refuse to interact with him or help me out, he gets an extra day added to his punishment.” The best way to punish Sam, and even sometimes, but rarely, Dean, was to actually punish the **other** boy instead. Sam especially had become so rebellious that punishments directly bestowed on him had stopped working. It was only those bestowed on Dean based on his behavior that really had an effect on him anymore.

That was the polar opposite from what Sam wanted, and he found himself immediately sitting in the middle of the living room in order to avoid it.

Setting Dean down on the floor, John thanked his youngest non-sincerely and disappeared, coming back only briefly to bring Dean some toys before finding his way to his bedroom.

Dean stood up and moved quickly to sit near Sam once John was gone, having not being told that he was allowed to walk and afraid that John would see him likely disobeying. He shuffled hastily over so that he was relocated before John came back.

Sam gave him a pitiful look and sighed. “Hey, you.”

Dean nodded and gave his brother a soft smile. “Hey, Sammy,” he greeted, keeping his voice low and quiet. He didn’t want John to hear him. “I’m sorry about all this.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sam rushed to assure, shocked that Dean would think such a thing. “Dad’s gone off the rails.”

“It was my stupid mistake that landed me here,” Dean argued. “If I hadn’t’ve… I wouldn’t be here.”

“Dean, I thought your trip over the hood of the car was going to be the end of it, honestly. You paid for your mistake. Your ass is probably **still** sore.” But at least it had mostly died down. “This is just overkill, and I **was** working on stopping it, but I don’t want you to get it any worse than you already have it. I’m sorry, but maybe it’s best to just ride this one out.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Sam. It’s definitely not your fault, either. Just… try to keep me out of more trouble, huh?” he chuckled warmly in order to make sure that Sam knew that he was only teasing. Dean trusted him not to do anything stupid, of course, but sometimes, he and John butted heads and it was never pretty.

“Deal,” Sam agreed, and they set out to look through the toys.

In the pile, they discovered a very detailed fire truck that actually lit up and made the noises that it should, some wooden blocks, and an Elmo doll that spoke. Of course, everything was out of its original packaging seeing as it was a safety hazard. Knives were always required to open these stupid boxes, and Dean could have sliced his hand open, or maybe something worse, if John had left it to chance. It was best just to play it safe.

“Woah, Dean. It looks like the man actually set foot in a Toys R’ Us,” Sam noted, honestly in a bit of disbelief. He hadn’t seen a toy from that place since his seventh birthday. “He’s really committed to this thing.”

“Well, I guess cheap dollar store toys would ruin the magic,” he said sarcastically, and then commented, “What does he care? It’s not his money. This is where that credit card fraud comes in handy.”

“Don’t forget hustling suckers at pool,” Sam laughed, and started absent-mindedly stacking blocks. They weren’t his to play with, but at least it would be something to keep his hands busy.

“How could I ever?” Dean grinned, and started deconstructing the tower that his brother was building every time he placed another block on it. He would never get anywhere if Dean kept doing that.

“Stop doing that,” Sam chuckled, and snaked his arms around the blocks in an attempt to keep Dean from them. It didn’t work. “I’m trying to build, here!”

“Hey, they’re my blocks, jerk. The minute you let Dad put you in a stupid outfit like this one, **that’s** when you can build with them. Until then, they’re _mine_.” He didn’t mean that. Sam could play with them as much as he wanted for all that Dean cared. It was just nice to banter.

“Don’t forget about the diaper,” Sam snickered. Granted, he hadn’t seen John put it on him, but he could tell that he was there. The bulge in his front, the way his butt suddenly looked bigger, and the splaying of his legs were all big clues that led him to the conclusion that Dean definitely **wasn’t** wearing his regular underwear.

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean snorted before picking up a block and hurling it as softly as he could at the fifteen year old. His goal wasn’t to hurt him; it was just to emphasize.

Sam jokingly shouted in pain in response to the block hitting his body, and with that, it was all over for Dean.

“Dean Campbell Winchester!” came John’s booming voice, and Dean turned around, in shock at the noise. His eyes blew wide when he saw his father standing there scowling, and he immediately wished that he could escape. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”


	7. Chapter 7

Dean’s body was frozen in place as he looked at John in horror. He didn’t know how long the man had been standing in the doorway, but clearly it was long enough for him to have seen him toss that block. Dean knew that was definitely a big, fat no-no, even without having to be told. Maybe John would go easy on him seeing as he didn’t actually physically **hit** Sam with it. But then again, this was **John** they were talking about, even behind the mask of a soft man.

He could only stammer out half-baked answers of, “I… I..” and, “Uh.. Uhm...”, and was grateful when Sam jumped in to (hopefully) save the day.

“He was just playing around, Dad,” Sam quickly assured. “We were both playing. I didn’t really get hurt.”

“I’m glad you didn’t get hurt, Sam,” John said stepping into the room so that he could loom over Dean. God, his dad scared him when he was standing, but from the floor? He was terrifying. “But the point is that swearing and hitting is not allowed in this house.” Since when? They had sworn like sailors their whole lives, and had roughhoused for just as long.

His eyes were dark, almost predatory. It was as if he had been waiting on the edge of his seat for Dean to slip up big time. Just waiting for him to do something that deserved more than a scolding. Waiting for an opportunity to break his spirit. But the truth was that he wasn’t. It was just that when he got angry, he saw red. It had been that way for as long as Sam and Dean could remember. Well, Dean remembered what he was like before. But with each day that passed, the memory faded more and more from his grasp.

Dean started to move himself backward slowly in order to distance himself from John. Staring up at him, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he knew that he was capable of a hell of a lot more than giving him the death stare, and that was what worried him most. In time with his movements, he also began to babble apologies, hoping in vain that they would save him. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” he practically pleaded. I-I’m so sorry, I… We were just playing! I got away from myself, please. Please don’t be mad. Daddy, please.” Even Dean knew that was asking for too much.

His tactic to try to get some personal space didn’t work for long because in three long strides, John had backed him into a corner. From there, it was somehow even worse.

“I don’t care if you were ‘just playing’, Dean. That is **not** how you’re supposed to treat your brother. Now, you wait right here and I’ll be right back. Don’t you dare move a muscle. Samuel will tell me if you do,” he explained, and then looked purposefully at Sam. “Isn’t that right, Samuel?”

“Yes, sir,” was all that Sam could choke out, and then, John was gone again.

Sam wanted to apologize. Wanted to say that he was sorry, but that he had to do it to keep things from getting any worse. But he couldn’t. He could only look at Dean with tears in his eyes and wish he could tell him what was going through his head. Anything he said aloud would only make things worse, especially if his brother found the gall to respond. So, he kept his mouth shut.

It wasn’t long before John returned, and while Sam was focused on how his body language still said that he was pissed beyond belief, Dean’s eyes were trained on what was in his hand: that oft-threatened pacifier gag he’d been dreading since the moment he knew it existed.

“Dad…” he started, unsure of where to go. He had nowhere. John was only one man, but he surrounded him nonetheless. “Daddy, please. Please don’t. Please don’t use that. I’ll be good. I won’t cuss anymore, I promise. Please, please, please. I’ll be a good boy.” Tears had started falling from his eyes and he hadn’t even been punished yet. That was far from a good sign. He was getting weaker. But John had lulled him into a false sense of security. That hadn’t been fair of him. “Daddy, I’ll be good. I’ll be good.” But John started heading toward him, and soon, he was kneeling in front of him.

Dean tried to jerk his head away, to do what he could to avoid the gag being placed around his head and in his mouth, but John was too good at his job and soon, Dean was unable to talk back.

Still kneeling in front of him, John took Dean’s face in his hands, forcing him to look him in the eye. Dean tried to shut his own pair of green orbs, but John hissed and he opened them back up out of fright.

“You’ve been **very** naughty, Dean,” John began, his stare like fire. “Cussing and throwing things, especially at your brother, is **not** acceptable behavior. It’s exactly the type of behavior that earns you spankings.” Dean’s eyes blew wide at this, and he started to try and scream and beg and plead behind the gag. The pacifier, though, was adult sized, and it filled up his whole mouth. There was no chance he was going to be understood while he was wearing it.

Tears poured down his face like a storm, and he couldn’t stop them if he tried. His last spanking was awful, and he wondered if this one was going to be as bad. But through his fit, Dean didn’t have the time nor state of calm to realize that John wasn’t wearing a belt in his jeans. If he was going to hit him with one, he would have come back into the living room wielding it. But he hadn’t.  

“Don’t worry, Dean,” John continued, sensing the fear in his eyes and remembering the event a couple of nights before. “Little boys don’t get spanked with belts. They get their Daddy’s hand.” Dean barely felt any relief at that. “Come on, now,” he ordered, standing and hauling Dean onto his feet, a rough hand squeezing his right bicep. “Sam, go grab me a chair. Set it in the middle of the living room when you get it.” Sam had never left the room faster in his life; he had a feeling that if he didn’t, a belt _was,_ in fact, going to be in Dean’s future. Or, at the very least, an extra day on his sentence and a chance for one to be used.

When he came back and set the chair down, he moved his arms behind his back so that John wouldn’t see him pinch himself; he was going to give it a shot. After all, this could just be some sick, twisted dream. He sure hoped it was.

He dug his fingernails so hard into his arm that he broke skin, but he was still standing in the living room and not lying in his bed no matter how hard he pinched. This was as real as he was. There was no doubt about that, now.

He was barely out of the way before John had dragged Dean over to the chair, sat down, and forced him over his jean-clad knees.

Dean was whining and screaming through his pacifier the entire way, but it didn’t do anything at all to stop or even slow John. If anything, it just made him angrier.

Sam, of course, wanted to do what Dean couldn’t and beg for his poor ass to be spared, but he couldn’t. He knew the consequences of interference, and they were the last thing he wanted. So, all he could do was stay silent and watch in horror as Dean’s onesie was unsnapped and flipped back and his diaper was peeled off of him and laid on the floor to be used again later. It was dry, so there was no point in wasting it.

John had left a bruise the last time that he was here, and he pledged to avoid it as best he could this time, and certainly not to manufacture any more.

“You’re not a bad boy, Dean,” Daddy said, a large hand coming down to rub Dean’s backside to prime it for the first slap. “You’ve just done bad things.”

The first slap came down hard when Dean wasn’t expecting it. He had very nearly forgotten what John’s hand felt like on his ass until that very moment, and he was reminded immediately that he didn’t like the feeling of it.

He yelped in pain, but it was muffled by the gag. “Fuck!” he shouted, and another slap came down, harder that time. John had obviously heard that.

“The more you curse, the worse it’ll be for you, baby,” John admonished, the nickname obviously far from sweet this time, and it made Dean’s stomach twist. Red handprints were already on the flesh of his ass, and tears were brought to Dean’s eyes because of the sting. They only renewed the hurt from nights before, and John’s hand just kept coming down. _Smack! Slap! Thwap!_ Over and over and soon, Dean was squirming over his father’s lap. John sure knew how to get bottoms on fire in the blink of an eye.

“Swearing is part of the reason that you’re getting this spanking in the first place, Dean,” he said, and Dean realized that his smacks were falling in a rhythm: left, right, right, left, and every fifth one fell more heavily than the last four. “It’s not wise of you to keep doing it.”

“Ow! Daddy, ‘top!” Dean pleaded, but John kept going. Dean knew that he wasn’t going to stop until he saw fit, and that could be a forever from now. The last one certainly seemed to go on for an eternity, but maybe John would go easier on him now that he was his baby. Then again, they were still on the first day of the punishment. Maybe he didn’t get any benefits of lesser sub-punishments until later on.

It went on for longer than Dean wanted, and definitely longer than Sam did. Honestly, it was as bad as if John had been using the belt, except his hand was work-roughened and harsh while the leather was, at the very least, smooth.

Dean was long past being in tears, and his face was red with fluids running out of his nose and dripping down his face. He desperately needed to blow his nose, and he was sure that he was at his ugliest, and his ass was **flaming** , but John just wouldn’t _stop_.

“Dad. Dad! That’s enough!” Sam pleaded, trying to grab John’s moving wrist and halt its motion so that he could no longer strike Dean. But John was stronger and he resisted, smacking Sam’s hand away harshly, and doing the same to Dean’s when he threw them back to try to protect his backside. If it earned him anything, it was harder smacks. He wasn’t sure how much harder they could get, but he did know that he  definitely wasn’t going to fall for John’s sweet front from now on. He would certainly be taking it with a grain or a thousand of salt, at the very least.

“I’ll decide when it’s enough, Sam,” John informed his youngest gruffly, and warned Dean, as well, to stop trying to cover his butt before he went out and bought handcuffs for the next time. God, Dean hoped that there wasn’t a next time.

But Dean, who couldn’t really do much to stop it, and his brother, thought differently.

While Dean was begging John to, “‘Top, ‘top, ‘top!”, Sam was trying to rip John’s hand away, which was when John threatened to get the belt and Dean screamed even louder. That definitely wasn’t what he wanted.

But at that, Sam had to step back and let things happen because he knew that John was serious, and Dean certainly didn’t need to be taking a belt to his ass today, or any day at all for that matter.  

Eventually, the hits slowed to a more spread out pace, and it wasn’t long after that that they stopped coming entirely.

John didn’t pull Dean up onto his knees and bring him into a hug like he should have. Instead, he pulled him up roughly and positioned him to his liking in the same way that he would a ragdoll before grabbing Dean’s face in his hands and forcing him to look at him in the eye.

Dean’s eyes were filled with tears and his red cheeks were streaked with ones that had fallen. He could barely make eye contact, and he couldn’t stop shaking or sobbing. When John did get a glance at his eyes, he only saw terror. All he wanted was to be crushed against John’s chest and held so that it would stop (not falling for sweetness could start **after** he was taken care of), but he wouldn’t give that to him. Well, at least not until John’s face fell and Dean saw regret. Then, he was sure it would happen.

“You did a bad thing,” the man said, and Dean could tell that he was struggling with the words. It was almost as if they strangled him as he spoke. “You don’t curse and you don’t… you don’t… Goddammit.” And with that, Dean got exactly what he wanted and John had his arms wrapped tightly around him, hugging him to his chest. “I’m sorry,” he murmured softly, running a rough hand through Dean’s hair. “I hit you too hard and too long. It wasn’t right of Daddy, and I’m sorry. I should have spanked you when I was calm, baby.”

Dean just bawled, loud and ugly and he could barely breathe. But John took off the gag before he could suffocate, throwing it to the floor like it would grow teeth and bite him, and his crying only got louder, progressing to heartrending wailing. He was uncaring that Sam was watching, and uncaring that he was playing into exactly what John wanted.

He was only **playing** and now, he would be hurting for even longer than he had thought. He was just **playing** and now John was disappointed in him **again**. “I’m… I… I’m sorry,” he wheezed, and if John could hug him any tighter, he would. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay,” John hushed, shifting Dean so that he was still on his lap, but wouldn’t have to sit on his ass. “It’s okay, Dean. I forgive you,” he assured, using the words that he knew he should without delay. Dean needed them. “I forgive you, baby. I know you didn’t mean to hurt him. I know you didn’t hurt him. I know.”

“I was… I was…” he tried to begin, but his sentence collapsed in its beginnings. He couldn’t talk, not now. Not when he was in pain and _hurting_ and a _failure._

John just shook his head as Dean clung to him, peppering kisses over Dean’s face, not giving a single damn that his nose was runny and his face was wet with tears and snot. Dean wasn’t the failure. It was him. “Shh, my love. Shh… Don’t talk,” he instructed, rocking them side to side. “Don’t talk. I know.”

He held Dean there for a while, a _long_ while, until he calmed down enough to listen. Until he could look John in the eye instead of wanting to bury his face in his neck and not move.  

“Look at me, son,” John directed, gently guiding Dean’s head out of its current position and into one where he could see John.

Dean struggled to keep eye contact, and tears were still falling down his face, but he managed to keep a visual on his father regardless.

John reached up to wipe the runaway droplets off of Dean’s face, and he gave him a sympathetic smile. “You shouldn’t have hit your brother with that block,” he explained softly, “And that kind of language that you used is for big boys only. It’s not for sweet little babies whose Daddies still change their diapers, okay? And not even big boys should throw blocks at their brother. Do you understand, Dean?”

Dean nodded, but John required a verbal answer.

“Y-Yes, sir,” Dean whispered, and it earned him a look. So, he forced himself to correct his words. “Yes, Daddy. I understand.”

“There’s my good boy,” John praised, and Dean struggled to smile for his sake. John assured him it wasn’t necessary. “Now, listen. I want you to apologize to Sammy, and then I’ll give you some time to catch your breath, but after that, the gag has to go back on for a little bit. It’s going to teach you to use words appropriate for babies like you, okay?”

Hearing these words, Dean’s eyes bugged out and he started to babble, to plead no, please, and to try and get John to change his mind because he didn’t like it. But John told him that his not liking it was the whole point of it being part of his punishment, and that it was either that or a mouthsoaping. Dean hated those more. It wouldn’t be as scary, either, because Daddy wouldn’t force it on him. Why? Because Dean was going to be a good little boy and allow him to put it on voluntarily.

Dean, of course, wasn’t willing to put up much fight after the spanking that he had just gotten. So, he just nodded and whispered, “Okay, Daddy.”

But it was then, when he turned his head to apologize to Sam, that he realized that his brother had gone.

Sam couldn’t bear to watch the scene that had begun to unfold in front of him, and since he couldn’t stop it, he went to his bedroom to drown it out. So, that meant that Dean would be taking a field trip. Or, well, so he thought.

Thankfully, Daddy volunteered to fetch Dean’s brother from his room, knowing that it would hurt him to walk. The last thing that he wanted was to cause Dean _unnecessary_ pain.

To say the least, Dean was reluctant to get off of Daddy’s lap, but the couch was softer, especially with the added padding of the diaper that Daddy had put back on him, and for that, his butt was grateful.

He waited patiently while John was gone, steadying his breathing fully, and soon, both he and Sam had returned.

“Hi, Dean,” Sam said, walking over to the couch and crouching down to get to Dean’s level. He didn’t need, or want, Sam was sure, somebody else towering over him. “I hear you have something to say to me,” he said, and he sounded sad. He couldn’t believe that their brotherly tomfoolery had been reduced to this. He hoped that they had their normal relationship back soon, but he wasn’t sure how anything could be normal again after this.

“Yeah,” Dean exhaled, and clasped a hand on Sam’s forearm reassuringly. He felt bad for Sam just as much as Sam did for him. “I’m sorry, Sammy.” He was sorry for so much more than the blocks, however. Sam could tell.

Thankfully, it sounded sincere enough for John, and it was. So, he thanked Dean just as Sam did, and he disappeared to clean off the nipple of the pacifier.

“He’s gonna put that thing back on me,” Dean whispered quickly, hoping that John couldn’t hear him using more words than he should. “So, I won’t be able to talk for a while. I just want you to know I wasn’t just apologizing for him.”

“I know you weren’t, Dean,” Sam said, and smiled softly as he stood up only to sit down on the couch next to him.

When John came back, Dean willingly opened his mouth and allowed him to bring the strap around his head and secure it into place. He didn’t whine, kick, scream, or make any fuss at all. That would probably just add more time to his punishment, or maybe even prompt John to think of something worse, and that certainly wasn’t what Dean wanted. So, he just did as John asked and decided to wait it out.

However, he enjoyed the praises that John gave him because it got him thinking that maybe, he wasn’t such a disappointment after all.

“Now, let’s put on some cartoons, huh?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise Christmas update! Merry Christmas to my lovely readers that celebrate, and happy holidays to the rest that don't ❤

Dean had had a long day, and he was grateful when bedtime came around. He had tried his best all day not to do things. Not to sit on his bottom, not to anger or annoy John, and not to cry every time he spoke sweet words or offered him something kindly. Dean had even turned down the pie that John had offered him for dessert (in an attempt to make up for the way that he had treated him earlier in the day.) He hadn’t been in the mood for it. He wasn’t happy this way, and there was no way he could be until he was allowed to be grown again.

All of the trust that he had build up with John that day was gone the minute he saw fire in his eyes, the moment that he was rough and aggressive instead of gentle and kind. There was even a way to do punishments with respect and niceties, and he hadn’t done that. So, Dean had been wary for the rest of the day, and he was sure that that would translate into tomorrow.

It was at bedtime that John put Dean into a fresh diaper. John had pumped him full of fluids the whole day, and eventually, Dean’s bladder couldn’t help but explode at the end of it. But John, thankfully, didn’t make a big deal out of it, save for a couple of words about how Dean was doing a “good job for Daddy”. All the young man could do was stare blankly at him with his words. The praise didn’t mean anything anymore, even though there was a moment or two earlier where it made him feel like less of a failure. All it was was part of the act and Dean knew that.

God, he couldn’t believe that he was so upset over a stupid spanking. It hadn’t even been with a switch or a cane or a wooden paddle. It hadn’t been with anything except for John’s hand and Dean was acting like it was the end of the world, like he could never forgive John for it. But it wasn’t about the spanking. He knew that, too. It was about the way that John had handled it. He was so quick to fury that… No. It was all an act. That was all it was. John didn’t actually want to become a better man. He only wanted to torture Dean into learning his lesson.

But before he put him into his pajamas, and even before fastening the undergarment, he pulled out arnica gel, and Dean thanked his lucky stars; just because he wasn’t going to fall for any more acts didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to accept help where he could get it.

John had applied it earlier in that day, pulling Dean out of the room to do it after his time with the gag was over, but it had long worn off since then, and a second application was something that Dean greatly appreciated.

It stung and his butt burned as John put it on, but the man shushed him gently in an attempt to settle him. He did his best to calm his son, but all it did was make Dean feel even more broken inside. The truth was that he’d never have a father who truly cared in the way he needed. His concern, his love, his fuss over whether or not Dean was okay, every effort he was putting in right now, it was all fake. It was just a shame that, even after all these years, he hadn’t yet resigned himself to that fact.  

Dean slept in John’s room that night. Right next to him, in fact. There was no privacy, no time to himself, nothing. He couldn’t even escape the hold that John had on him as he held him close to his chest.

In addition to sleeping with John in his bed, Dean was subjected to another lullaby. Well, subjected wasn’t really the right word. He liked John’s singing. He didn’t hear it nearly enough. But tonight, it was definitely subjection.

Dean had forgotten how much John loved Elvis Presley, because this time, he received a rendition of “Love Me Tender”, and Dean would have been fine with it, or at least tolerate it, if the singing was it. But then, John had to kiss him on the forehead and he had to struggle not to lose it.

He understood that John had to be tough on them growing up because hunters needed to be tough. Dean knew that. But why weren’t things like this, nights like this, **moments** like this, incorporated into that mix, too? Why had John become a drill sergeant who never showed them any love unless they had moments previously been in the clutches of death? Why did Dean have to be Sam’s dad and have nobody there to be his?

Dean put in a fight to get up, and even then, he lost it. John was stronger than he was, and he kept Dean locked in place even as he writhed and squirmed to get away. John didn’t need to see him any weaker than he already had, and it was inevitable that the dam was going to burst (and by that, Dean meant maybe a few tears, because he’d go to war against the rest). So, he needed to escape, but John wouldn’t let him, and that just made him want to cry even more.

“What’s wrong?” Daddy asked, seeing the telltale signs that tears were about to start falling down Dean’s face. But Dean didn’t answer. He didn’t want to and he didn’t have to, and he certainly couldn’t get in trouble for it, could he? So, he just buried his face in the pillow beneath him, his non-gagging pacifier keeping his face from being completely submerged in it. Maybe the pillow would help to dry his eyes.

But he kept thinking about it, and the tears started to come, and soon, it was audible.

Why didn’t John love him like he should? Why did he force him to grow up so fast? Why did Dean have to spend his entire life craving the affection that he was never given? It wasn’t fair on him. It never had been. And now, when he was finally getting it, it was too warped and disingenuous for him to enjoy it!

Daddy started to rub his back upon hearing the whimpers, and all Dean wanted to do was jerk away, but the arm wrapped around his waist prevented him from doing so. As a result, he just had to lay there, shaking, and let him do it, all while enduring repetitions of, “Tell Daddy what’s wrong” and “Tell me what happened, Deano. I can’t make it better if you don’t tell me.” But Dean knew in his heart of hearts that John wouldn’t make anything better for him unless he became a bigger man, a _better_ man, and that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, especially if it hadn’t happened in the past sixteen years.

Dean lifted his head momentarily, if only to spit his pacifier out in order to tell John to, “leave me alone!”

John persisted, though, refusing to do as he was told in exchange for discovering what was making his love so sad.

“It’s okay, Dean. You can use your big boy words to tell Daddy,” Daddy explained, moving his hand up to run it through Dean’s brunet hair. “I just want to know what’s wrong. Did Daddy do something?”

That was the understatement of the century.

“I don’t want to talk,” Dean shouted before lifting his head once again to turn it and give John a flaming stare, though it was way more pathetic than it was scary. It didn’t phase John at all. In fact, if he wasn’t so worried, he’d probably smile.

“Well, I want to listen,” the man replied, and it only frustrated Dean more. Why wouldn’t he just let it **go**?

Dean knew that if he said the things that he needed to get off his chest, it would certainly hurt John’s feelings. John was already a broken man from all of the wrong that had plagued him in his life. This… It would just plain crush him. Dean didn’t want to hurt him, especially not like this. He knew what it felt like to be hurt. John didn’t need more of it, even **if** Dean was angry.

But it went on for an hour, it seemed, John being so insistent that Dean had to give in. Neither of them were going to get any sleep if they kept on his path, and Dean needed something to whisk him away from his reality, and if not sleep, then what?

So, he finally had to break, if only so that John would just leave him be.

“Why didn’t you love us like this?!” Dean asked, and John raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Why didn’t I treat you like babies, love?” he questioned, not understanding his point. “Because it’s a punishment. I’m not going to punish you your entire lives, Dean.”

Dean wanted to scream. In fact, he almost did. “Why does affection have to be a punishment? Why don't you just give it to us because we’re your sons and you love us? I'm not even sure you do, Dad!”

Upon hearing the words that Dean spoke, John’s face became so long that it was practically on the floor. He never knew that Dean had felt that way.

Dean sat up in anger, and John let him, but he definitely wasn't going to allow him to storm off. They had an important conversation to share first.

“Of course I love you, Dean,” John said, sitting up as well and resting a hand on Dean’s back. “I love you and your brother both more than you know.”

Dean jerked away. The last thing he wanted was to be touched right now. Especially by John. “We _should_ know it, Dad. That’s my point! You know what? I told you I didn’t want to talk about this and, and, and I **don’t** , Dad, so please don’t make me. I don’t want to have this conversation. I don’t want to hurt you.” Though, he wasn’t sure why he was being so protective over John’s feelings. John had never done the same for him, or at least not in a very long time.

“You’re not going to hurt me by telling me how you feel, Dean,” John assured, and that was a lie. Dean could see it on his face that he had been wounded by his words. “I want to hear it all.” Even if it did hurt. “I want to know how I can fix it.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and screamed into it once it was cupped over his mouth. John wasn’t going to let it go. “Are you sure you do? Are you actually going to change? Because… God, Dad, we really need you to.” A single tear fell from his eye, and he swiped it away as fast as it had fell. There was no time for tears. He might wake up from this dream before he could enact any change if he wasted it on those.

“Yes,” John said softly. “I’m going to try my damndest.”

Dean took a deep, shuddering breath, and he gathered his thoughts as best he could. He never thought this day would come.

Dean had run over, in his head, for years, every single thing he would change about their family, about their relationship with John, if he could. Every. **Single**. Thing. How John needed to tell them that he loved them, not just think it. How he and Sam needed to stop fighting so much. How John couldn’t alienate Sam and make him feel like the only time they talked was when they were in a screaming match. How they had to hang out together more often than on Christmas and birthdays. How their only family activity couldn’t be hunting and that was it. How they needed more hugs and kisses, and not just after spankings or near death experiences. How they needed a **dad** , not a drill sergeant. All of that and so, so many more things. But all of that went out of Dean’s head when he was finally, **finally** asked. He had never expected to be. So, when he was, it came as a total shock.

As a result of his empty brain, all Dean came up with to say was, “You need to be the dad you were before Mom died.”

John appeared receptive, but surprised when Dean spoke. “You remember that?” he asked, clearly taken aback.

“Of course I do,” Dean mumbled, looking down. “Best four years of my life.” He couldn’t meet John’s eye as he said it, knowing that the comment disappointed him, knowing that John wished that all of the years of his life were the best years.

John reached around and cupped the back of Dean’s head with a strong hand, giving him a sad smile. “Mine, too, Deano.”

John regretted the way that things had been for them since the fire. He had turned into a monster of his own variety, and it hadn’t been fair of him to do to his kids. He had always prayed there would come a day where he could give them the life that they deserved, and it was unfortunate that this was the closest he could come for Dean. Even if he marketed it as a punishment, he hoped that Dean settled into it and he actually benefited from it. But if he kept fighting it, John doubted that it would do its job. Well, both of its jobs, anyway.

“If you could just… be that guy- Nevermind. You can’t be him anymore. It was stupid of me to ask. I’m sorry.” John was too far gone to ever do anything more than fake it.

“No, Dean. No, no. It wasn’t stupid,” John assured. “It wasn’t stupid. It’s a completely reasonable… You deserve that. Both of you do, but especially you after everything extra I made you go through to shield Sammy. I’m going to try my hardest to do that for you, okay? All I ask is that you be patient. It might take some time to unlearn some things I had to teach myself. Can you do that? Can you bear with me, Deano?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed, his breath shuddering. He sure hoped he was able to, because he could tell that it would take a _lot_ of bearing with him; as John had said, there was a lot of damage control that he had to do on his part for things to start to work. “I can try.”

“Okay,” John smiled, and Dean’s urge to vomit was somehow less than the last time. “That’s all we can do, right? Try our best?”

Dean could only nod, but apparently, John took that as enough of an answer, because he moved on after it.

“Did the gel help at all, sweetheart? I know I pack a mean swing. I’m sorry I got you so bad, kiddo.”

“‘Ts starting to,” Dean mumbled, and it was obvious that he was worn out by the way that his eyes were beginning to fall shut. “Feels numb.”

“Then it’s doing its job,” John stated and pulled Dean in closer to kiss his forehead before letting his hand fall from his head. “Get some sleep; you look exhausted, baby boy.”

Dean only muttered out a simple, “Okay,” before getting comfortable in the bed, as comfortable as he could get, and closing his eyes completely and finally.

Dean went to sleep hoping that tomorrow would be better. That it wouldn’t bring as much pain as today did. He hoped that it was just the rockiness of settling in, and that John would keep his promise of “trying his damndest” to be a better man for not only his sake, but also Sam’s, because at the moment, it was hard to believe that he’d try at all, never mind his hardest. And, lastly, he hoped for no more spankings. That was reasonable, wasn’t it? He sure hoped it was; he wasn’t sure how much more his ass could take. Besides, it was easier to do than the rest of it. If John could refrain from that simple little thing, maybe he could take care of the rest after all, too.

John bedded down with some of the same hopes. He went to sleep hoping that he could be a better father for his sons, that he could reverse whatever garbage he had instilled into his personality after as long as it had been there. That it wasn’t permanent just because it had been a part of him for so long. Hoping that Dean could forgive him for all that he had done, for all of his many mistakes and screw-ups. For all of the times he was a less than adequate parent. He just hoped that things would be alright, not only for their relationship, but for Dean as an individual. He supposed, though, that he’d find out once this ordeal was through. He could only pray that he didn’t have to wait very long for Dean to be okay again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise New Year's Day chapter! I hope every single one of you has a wonderful and prosperous 2019 :)

John beat everybody out of bed the next morning. He usually prefered to sleep in where he could, having an adult life that mostly consisted of no sleep at all, but today, he was grateful to be able to have some time to himself before the boys woke up. It would give him room to think.

He started a pot of coffee and then jumped into a quick shower, the water so hot it was practically scalding. He didn’t know why, but he’d always liked it that way.

His coffee was black when he poured it twenty minutes later, and it stayed the way as he took it over to the kitchen island and sat down. He didn’t feel the need, never had, to dilute the taste with cream and sugar.

The coffee cup was warm in his hands, equalizing the chill from the cold autumn weather just outside the bunker. The thought crossed his mind to start running the heat _inside_ of the residence. It was coming up on the time where it was cold enough to warrant it.

John had always been a man who enjoyed quiet, and it was a damn shame that it was such a rarity in his life nowadays. With kids and then hunting, he wasn’t sure he’d had a moment’s silence in two decades. Okay, that might have not been entirely true, but those moments were certainly further between than he would like.

It was nice just to sit there in the quiet, by himself without monsters coming at him or Sam screeching in his ear about how life was unfair and so was he. Nice to enjoy his cup of joe in utter noiselessness. But as his brain woke up a bit more, and as the coffee began to flow through him, the thoughts started flowing as well, and John knew there was no taking those back, especially when the questions started coming at him a million miles a minute.

Was he doing the right thing? Would Dean ever be able to forgive him for his way of making things right? Of trying to make things **good** between them for once in his life? Would this only prove to make things worse than they already were, not only with Dean, but also with Sam? Dean was loyal, but would Sam pack up and leave the day he turned eighteen and not look back? Was there anything that John could do to prevent that?

John certainly didn’t _want_ to alienate his sons, his two special boys. But he was a realist all the same, and knew that he hadn’t always been the best father to either of them despite his efforts. He just hoped that listening to Dean’s concerns (because let’s be real; when Dean spoke for himself, he had both his and his brother’s best interests at heart) and adjusting accordingly was enough to save their family. He hoped it wasn’t too little too late, because that was just plain unacceptable to him. He could change, could be a better man, a better father, than in days, weeks, months, and years passed. And to do that, to have any chance of fixing the mess that he had made and had been made for him, he had to start now.

* * *

 “Mornin’, Sammy,” John greeted about an hour after he himself had woken up. “Want some breakfast?”

The man’s youngest looked rather disheveled, his hair sticking up in every direction and his clothes rumpled to an extreme that John had only seen when intentionally done. What had he done in his sleep? Wrestled a lion? “Depends on what you’re making,” the fifteen year old yawned, stretching out, his shirt rising up and exposing his stomach in the process. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but when presented with the right option… that very well might be a different story.

“I will make whatever you want me to make, how about that?” John allowed, and Sam’s eyes widened just the slightest bit. It was usually, “eat what I make for breakfast or make your own” unless it was somebody’s birthday or Christmas. Sam couldn’t help but wonder what had his father changing his tune.

“Am I dying of cancer and you just haven’t told me yet?” Sam asked, padding over to the cup cabinet to get a mug before pouring himself some coffee. “Because that’d be a pretty shitty thing to hide from me.”

John couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Sam always had to go for the over-the-top, dramatic explanation of things. “No, you’re not _dying of cancer_ , Sam. I just feel like doing something nice for my boy. Is that so hard to believe?” Maybe he should try not being so snide. That would be something he’d have to one, remember and two, practice.  

“A little bit?” Sam asked, sucking in his teeth as if he had just ignited a fight he didn’t want to have. But luckily, John didn’t take offense.

“Sit down, Sam. Tell me what you want to eat, drink your coffee while you wait, and then I want to talk to you.” Even now, when trying to be kind, John was still straight to the point and no-nonsense. Not giving Sam wiggle room was usually what got them into trouble, but he imagined this was simple enough that Sam wouldn’t sigh or grumble. Luckily, he was right.

“Some waffles would be great,” Sam mumbled quietly as he took a seat, deciding to take what he was given with grace and ask questions once his stomach was full (in true Winchester fashion. He was definitely his brother’s sibling). “Thanks, Dad.”

* * *

It wasn’t long before Sam and John Winchester were seated at the kitchen island, coffee mugs in hand and stacks of waffles as large as their heads placed in front of them.

Much unlike his brother, Sam picked at his food while engaged in conversation instead of wolfing it down like a vacuum cleaner. It would still be there even if he paced himself. “So, what is it you wanted to talk about?”

“Well, I wanted to discuss a talk I had with your brother last night. And I don’t want you to respond until I’ve said my piece, okay? You can have the floor as soon as I’m done, but I just want to get this all out without being interrupted.”

Sam nodded, obviously intrigued in hearing what his father had to say. It wasn’t unlike John to demand silence while he was speaking, to order for their full attention, but this time, he wasn’t ordering. He was _asking_. That was enough to pique Sam’s interest. “Go ahead.”

John let out a heavy sigh as he moved his waffles around in the plate in front of him. He had always told his boys not to play with their food, but he had always been a hypocrite in that respect. He just couldn’t help it when he was nervous or didn’t want to say something. When he didn’t know how to start a conversation. “Sammy, I…” he began, and then sighed again. He didn’t want to mess this up.

There were a few more false starts and moments of silence before he finally come to a conclusion on how he wanted to say what he had to say. “I’ve always wanted the best for you and your brother. Since the day you were born and I held you in the hospital and you guys looked up at me with your big beautiful eyes, I knew I had to protect you from all harm and give you the best life I could. But as it turned out, it wasn’t some random man on the street abducting you or you dying in some freak accident that I had to worry about hurting you. It was me. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was the thing that would hurt you most in your life.” John had to stick up his hand to stop Sam from interrupting. “Just let me finish.”

Sam huffed, but allowed John to continue; sometimes, it was better just to do what he was told and avoid the argument. Especially, _especially_ when it seemed like John was trying to say something that was meaningful. But even still, he wanted to cut him off and tell him that that wasn’t true. That there were vampires and ghosts and jinn and all kinds of different horrors out there, that John was far from the worst of it. But he knew arguing wouldn’t be in his best interest. John _had_ asked nicely to say what he needed to, after all. So, Sam did a zip-up-his-mouth-and-throw-away-the-key motion, and John paused a moment before continuing to make sure that he was done trying to interrupt.

“I won’t give examples because you know them all and the point of this conversation,” monologue at this point in time, “isn’t to dredge up bad memories, but I wasn’t a good father like I was supposed to be. Well, I _was_ , but only Dean and I remember that much. You… you were just a baby when I changed. You’ve never known anything different. But I was talking to him last night and he told me how much it’s affected you two. Even though that only reaffirmed what I knew, it gave me a _push_ , Sam. Let me know that if I don’t change and fast, you boys are gonna wise up one day and leave me, and then we’ll truly be all alone. That’s the last thing I want.”

John didn’t want his kids to walk out the door and never come back, to barely get a Christmas card and to never see his grandchildren if he was lucky enough to have any (but then again, though he loved his boys, he didn’t think anybody should be having children. Not in a world like this.) He didn’t want his sons to feel like their father didn’t love them now and never would again. He didn’t want his family torn apart because of the evil that was in the world. The evil in the universe was all the more reason to stick together.

He wasn’t sure how he’d go on living without Sam and Dean, and he didn’t want to have to find out. He just had to hope that this discussion and the effort that he’d sworn he’d make was enough to prevent that happening.

“So I’m going to try to do better,” John explained. “Gonna harder than I’ve ever tried anything in my life. It won’t come easy, I have to tell you. Have to warn you. It’s gotta be a bit of give and take. I’m going to do my best, and you’re going to have to make some room to understand when I slip up. You and your brother both are going to have to understand that it’s not me… it’s not me reverting to the way I’ve been. It’s me struggling as I try to break this cycle of… _bullshit_ . It’s going to take a while, and it’s going to be hard, and I won’t be perfect, but I can’t lose any more of my family. Can you bear with me, Sam?” he asked, echoing the same question that he had asked Dean. “Can you work on forgiving me for all I’ve hurt you and can you be _patient_ for me?”

Sam was silent for a long time before he spoke, taking in everything that his father had said. _That_ was when he decided to stuff his face, so that he wouldn’t have to talk right away. He just needed some time to think it through.

Of course, he could have said that, because the face-stuffing got John nervous for two reasons: first of all, did he have something bad to say and that’s why he didn’t want to say anything at all? Secondly, he had seen _Dean_ put that much in his mouth at once before, but never Sam. He didn’t know if his mouth had the capacity for it.

“Sam, woah,” he gasped, putting his hands out in front of him to motion the brunet to stop. “Slow down. _Chew_ , **swallow**. You’re going to choke. The food isn’t going anywhere.”

The man was worried he’d have to force Sam to spit everything back out on his plate, but like a champ, and in shock to John, he handled it all and soon, his mouth was empty again. But he still hadn’t had quite enough time to ponder John’s speech. So, he told him the honest truth. “I don’t know what to say to that, Dad. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, Sam,” John allowed, trying not to show his disappointment. It would take time. He knew that. If even agreeing to take time was going to take time, that was just fine by him. “You just… take some time to think about it,” John smiled. “Hope you enjoyed your waffles, kiddo.”

* * *

Dean slept in that morning, and John let him. Well, until about eleven when he started to get a little bit worried.

“Dean?” he asked softly, leaning in and resting a hand on his son’s leg. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

When Dean didn’t rouse immediately, John planted a gentle kiss to his forehead, deciding not to panic early and try other methods of getting him to wake before doing anything drastic. “Deano?”

With the kiss (and possibly a second), Dean’s eyes softly fluttered open, but when he saw that it was John, groaned and closed them once again. He didn’t want to get up.

This action emitted a quiet chuckle from the patriarch of the family. Dean could be so cute sometimes without even realizing it. “C’mon, baby. It’s time to get up and start our day. I know we were up late last night, but it’s already nearly noon. How about I carry you to the kitchen and make you some yummy breakfast? Would that make up for having to wake up, love?”

Dean didn’t respond, just rolled over, and that’s when John knew he’d have to pull out the big guns.

“You can even have a piece of the pie that I baked for you last night.” The one that he had _declined_ to eat last night. “Pie for breakfast, Deano. Doesn’t that sound good?”

If Dean hadn’t responded to that, John would have grounds to believe that he was violently ill, but when he turned back over, the man knew he’d gotten his son hook, line, and sinker.

“Pie?” he asked drowsily, involuntarily yawning softly. “And you’ll carry me?”

From the events of yesterday, Dean was too tired to do anything but think about staying in bed, but if he couldn’t do that, the next best thing was not having to walk. And no, he was _not_ playing into John’s games by accepting his help. He was simply taking the opportunity to be lazy.

“Pie and I’ll carry you,” John echoed, the smile not having left his face. “That’s right.”

Dean finally nodded, agreeing. Maybe this was the beginning of a good day after all.

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

This time around, John had been smart enough to put a bib on Dean. He didn’t want a repeat of what had happened with his bottle the previous morning, and considering the fact that pie was exponentially messier, especially when in reach of Dean Winchester, it was better to be safe rather than sorry. 

If it wasn’t for the fact that John had control of the plate and fork, he was sure that Dean would have demolished the slice of pie in seconds. But because the older hunter had possession of the food, there was actual pacing involved, and multiple delivery methods of the pie to slow the eating process down. 

The plane was too sloppy, as John found out when he got a bit distracted and his eyes weren’t trained on the spoon as it tilted. The bite ended on the floor with that. Of course, Dean’s wide open hangar was disappointed when the bite never came.

As it turned out, the train was best suited for the pair of Winchesters at the island. Chugging along, it was perfect to make its way into the station (also known as Dean’s mouth) without the mishap of a crashing plane.   

But breakfast was over before Dean knew it, and not long after that, he was placed in front of the television in the living room, surrounded by toys and accompanied by a bottle of juice and his fire engine red pacifier.

“Daddy has some work to do in the other room,” John informed him as he turned on the television. When he moved from in front of it, Dean realized that John had turned the channel to one that was playing Sesame Street. It had been Dean’s favorite show when he was  **actually** a little boy, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a lucky guess or if John actually remembered. He hoped it was the latter. “I’ll try not to be long. If you need anything, you come and let me know.”

“Be a good boy,” John instructed as he walked over and leaned down to kiss Dean’s forehead. It was only after Dean smiled back up at him that he left the room and disappeared from his son’s line of sight. 

Dean tried to focus on the show for a little while, but soon, his mind drifted. He could hear John talking in the other room, and it clearly wasn’t to Sam. It must have been a phone call. 

He wondered what John was discussing, because he couldn’t quite make out the words that his father was saying over the volume of the TV, and he could guess that John had done that purposefully. 

He could make some inferences, however, based on the very little information that he had. More fittingly, the single piece of intel that he had: John had said that he had work to do. 

John wasn’t a broker, or a CEO, or an IT specialist. He didn’t have a normal job. No. He was a  **hunter** . His work was dealing with monsters. He was on a consult, that was it. But with who and for what monster? John knew some pretty experienced hunters. What monster was so bad that somebody needed his help? It must have been a pretty tricky case if John was being called in for assistance. 

He had to strain to try to hear what John was saying to the person on the other line, but the television was just so damn  _ loud  _ that he couldn’t. 

His first instinct was to go and sneak out of the living room so that he could eavesdrop, but knew that he would most likely be punished for being nosy about “adult” business and coming to Daddy only so that he could play CIA agent. The last thing he wanted was another punishment, regardless of what it was. So, he stayed put in the floor and eventually stopped trying to hear what was going on. It was a futile effort, anyway. 

It wasn’t long before he was absorbed in the show and was watching as various puppets crossed the screen and sang songs, counted numbers, and taught lessons of kindness. 

Dean was most excited when Cookie Monster, who had been his favorite character when he was younger, popped up. He might have actually, maybe, just possibly squealed (please don’t tell Sammy) behind the pacifier that John had placed in his mouth when he came on screen. 

And then, when he exited the show, Dean encountered a strange feeling: he couldn’t wait to tell John all about the Cookie Monster’s appearance on the television the minute he got back. 

Soon, though, Sesame Street gave way to Mister Rogers, another one of Dean’s favorites. By the time John came back what felt like hours later, Dean was wrapped up in the Land of Make Believe. 

“Hey, baby boy,” John greeted in a soft interruption of the show, but it didn’t seem to phase Dean who was engrossed in the episode. 

Getting down on the floor next to him, John muted the television and smiled when Dean looked over at him. “Hi there. Enjoying Mister Rogers, I see?”

“Yeah,” Dean grinned back from behind the pacifier (of which he was anxious to take out without permission). Though he had been engaged in the show, he hadn’t forgotten about John’s work and how he wanted to find out as much information about the phone call as possible. “Who was on the phone, Daddy?” he asked, his words jumbled from speaking with his mouth full. 

Smiling knowingly, John patted Dean’s bare thigh. He knew exactly what his boy was trying to get at, and he wasn’t about to give it to him. “It was just your uncle Bobby, kiddo. No big deal.”

“Was it about a hunt?” Dean asked, and Daddy kissed his cheek. 

“There’s no reason for you to worry about that, sweetheart. Why don’t you tell me about the show?”

Dean frowned and his eyebrows furrowed at being denied information, but he recalled the ache in his backside and how he certainly didn’t want any more of it. So, instead of pressing the issue, he simply took out his pacifier, of course after getting permission from John, and answered his inquiry. 

“Cookie Monster was on Sesame Street,” Dean said, and John noticed the change in hs facial expression when talking about the blue creature. “He’s my favorite.”

“I remember,” John smiled, pulling Dean closer to his body. “What did Cookie Monster do?”

Dean couldn’t help the fact that he felt warm inside because John remembered that Cookie Monster was his favorite. It was such a small, insignificant thing, but he still remembered, even all these years later, and that made Dean happy. “Uhm…” Dean tried to remember, but honestly, he couldn’t recall very much. Maybe it was because Cookie Monster hadn’t done anything. “Uhm… He ate cookies.”

“Yeah?” John prodded, but when it was clear that he wasn’t going to get any more information, he moved on. “What happened on Mister Rogers before Daddy came in?”

“He went to a bakery and had some pie,” Dean explained, now practically beaming up at John. The thought of pie made him happy, too. “Can I have some more pie, please?”

“Not right now, sweetheart,” John said apologetically. “You already had some a couple hours ago. Maybe after dinner, though, if you’re a good boy for Daddy. You can be a good boy, can’t you, my love?”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, and although his smile diminished a bit at the discovery that he couldn’t have more pie immediately, he was still pleased with the information that he’d be allowed some later. “I want to go to the bakery for some pie.”

“But we already have pie at home, honeybun,” John chuckled. “Isn’t that good enough?”

“But that’s  **your** pie. Bakery pie is different.”

“Oh, is that so?” Daddy asked, quirking an eyebrow in amusement. “Well, maybe if you’re a  **really** good boy, I’ll take you to the bakery across town sometime soon. How does that sound? Sound like a deal?”

“Sounds like a deal,” Dean grinned. However, Dean hoped that “sometime soon” meant after his punishment was over. He did  **not** want to go out in public wearing a diaper and dressed like  _ this _ , though he was almost certain that John would only make him wear the undergarment. The clothing would be too obvious, but the diaper wouldn’t. That could be hidden. Either way, though, he didn’t need to go outside with it. If this punishment wasn’t already, that would be the death of his dignity.

“Okay. But for now, it’s lunchtime. You finish your episode while Daddy makes something tasty.”

* * *

 

When the sun set and nighttime rolled around, Dean was put in the bath. It went as well as the last one, maybe even better, at first, especially because this time, he wasn’t soaked going into it. 

Of course, Dean was still embarrassed about being naked or otherwise uncovered around John. He’d already needed his diaper changed today, and that had been bad enough, but fully nude was somehow a different story (despite the fact that all the parts exposed during bath time were already exposed during diaper time). However, it was rather nice having somebody else do all the work of washing him and all he had to do was sit there. 

John even gave him some extra time in the tub to play after he had finished washing him, and on top of that, he had bath toys on hand. Naturally, it was awkward to play with them, but John made it more bearable by normalizing it. By distracting him by talking to him about what they were going to do tomorrow, by playing with him. By engaging and enabling him. 

But when the water began to run cold, Daddy took the toys away and Dean rightfully believed that to be the end of bathtime. But boy was he wrong. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. I'm gonna level with y'all. I've written this chapter five times and cannot for the life of me get it perfect or even right. I don't want a year to go between updates, and I don't know if this chapter would ever get any better even with more time. It's probably not as bad as I'm making it out to be, so don't go into it thinking it's gonna suck, because I'm sure it won't. This is probably just my brain being silly and it's fine. Enjoy!

The shaving razor gleamed in the harsh light of the bathroom, the light that exposed all. Like every freckle of Dean’s body, every flaw, and most importantly, the can of shaving cream in John’s other hand. 

Dean’s eyes widened at the sight of it, and he backed as far away in the tub as he could, which wasn’t very far, unfortunately for Dean. Even if he got far, he was still effectively trapped and at his father’s mercy. 

Dean knew what John wanted to…- was  **going** to do, with those, even without having to be told, and he was the furthest thing from pleased about it. 

“No, no. Please don’t,” Dean pleaded, and didn’t believe for a second when John set the items down on the edge of the tub that he was home free. 

When Daddy took his hand, he instructed Dean to stand up so he could help him out of the bath. It would be easier to get all angles if he was standing. They could, of course, worry about rinsing him off after. 

“Daddy,  _ please _ ,” Dean begged, fluttering his eyelashes and hoping that would save him. “Please don’t. I like my hair. Please, please, please.”

“Babies don’t have hair, Dean,” John reminded. “Now, step out of the tub, please, honey. We’ve got to shave you. Be careful.”

“I don’t want you to shave me!” Dean exclaimed, and he was almost surprised by his own shouting. But he couldn’t quiet down, not when his  **hair** was on the line. “I want to keep my hair, Dad!”

John gave Dean a pointed look, one that said, “You know what to call me” and if Dean wasn’t so riled up, he would have averted his eyes and apologized. “Dean, babies don’t have hair. We have to shave you,” he repeated calmly, taking a breath to be able to keep his tone even. He’d expected a little pushback. This was nothing to get upset over. “Now, stand up so you can step out of the tub. You won’t like it if I have to pick you up out of it, son.”

Dean debated being difficult and putting up a fight, but he ultimately decided against it, understanding that it wasn’t worth it. Hair would grow back, and the shaving would be painless. The spanking that he feared he’d receive if he didn’t obey, however, that would be far from it, especially to an already sore bottom.

So, Dean finally listened, using John’s hand as leverage to help him out of the tub as well as the tub itself. And soon, he was standing on the tile floor, dripping wet and completely nude. He couldn’t wait until the embarrassment of this was all over and he could get his hands on a towel. 

“Good boy,” Daddy praised, giving Dean a warm smile. “Now, let’s get this over with, shall we?” he asked, picking the razor back up after squirting some shaving cream onto his hand and lathering it up.

He started with Dean’s face, shaving off what little hair was there (because he couldn’t quite grow a full beard yet, and even then, he had already shaved before the punishment had started). That wasn’t too terribly bad. 

Then, John made his way to doing Dean’s underarms, which, again, wasn’t awful. But after that, he got out a bigger razor, this one an electric shaver, and took care of the thick hair of his legs, walking around him occasionally to get every angle. There was a non-surprising amount of whimpering on Dean’s part as he watched his leg hair fall to the ground. He was certainly going to miss it while it was gone. 

After that came John going over his legs with the manual razor to take care of anything he might have missed and smooth out the edges, so to speak. 

As Dean stood there, motionless save for his shaking, his brain took a moment to notice the cool breeze that his now bare legs felt. He hadn’t felt anything like that in a long time, and it was odd to say the least. He hoped that he’d get used to it soon, especially because of the shock that he felt when he looked down at them and there was nothing where there used to be something.  

The worst part of the entire ordeal, however, was when Daddy told him that there was just one last spot that had to be done before they could rinse him off. There was only one possible spot left that made sense, and Dean knew exactly which one it was without having to ask. The knowledge made him want to run. The knowledge that John was going to shave his pubic hair on top of everything else. 

He tried to beg and plead with him to leave it, to just let him have one thing, but John refused. Babies were to be hairless, he said, and that was that. 

Dean felt the tears stinging his eyes before the razor even touched his skin. 

By the time John was actually shaving, the tears were falling and Dean was wiggling about to try and get away from the razor. This was the most degrading thing he’d experienced since his first day on punishment. But John looked up at him from the floor, and even on his knees he was threatening enough for Dean to freeze. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally cut Dean. Being still was imperative. 

“I know, baby. I know. You don’t like it. But we need to do it.” 

Dean wanted to tell John that no, they really didn’t need to do it. Dean could be hairy and it would be okay. He wasn’t a real baby after all, anyway. This was the furthest thing from necessary because they didn’t need to be  **entirely** realistic. It was just impossible. 

But, fearing what might happen if he did speak up, he kept his mouth shut instead of voicing his opinion, which was really all it was. 

“Daddy’s sorry it’s so uncomfortable for you, but you’ll get used to it,” John said, and his eyes were softer, now. Dean wanted to scoff. He didn’t  **want** to get used to it. But he would have to.

Dean was full-on crying by the time John was finished shaving his pubic area, and he was red in the face as he was rinsed and wrapped in a towel. He had been hoping that the towel would bring some decency, but what was the point of decency when all of his dignity was gone? 

John attempted to soothe Dean once he was bundled up, shushing him and rubbing his back in circles as he hugged him to his chest. “Shh, it’s okay, honey. It’s just hair. It’ll grow back.” 

All Dean could do was sniffle and let the tears roll down his face as he trembled. This wasn’t fair. He  _ liked  _ his hair. Why couldn’t he just have one thing?

“C’mon, sweetheart. It’s not a big deal. It’s only hair,” John repeated again. “It’s okay. It’s okay. How about we go put you in a nice diaper and some cozy jammies? Would that make you feel better?”

Maybe it would. Of course, Dean would still be pissed about the fact that he was essentially now a naked mole rat, but at least he’d be in comfortable clothes. Those pajamas that John had managed to find were the most objectively comfortable clothes he owned. Of course, he wasn’t  **emotionally** comfortable in them. He liked his blue jeans and flannel for that. But physically speaking? They were damn plush. He could at least try it. It was just too bad that if he changed his mind about liking it, he wouldn’t be allowed to take them off. 

“Y-Yeah,” he said shakily, deciding that it was better to attempt something that might help than to leave himself completely unhappy. “Maybe.”

  
  



End file.
